Innocence
by Marauder50
Summary: Harry Potter has never felt at home at 4 Privet Drive. It takes an escaped convict and a werewolf to teach him the real meaning of family.
1. Chapter 1

_"Is that seat taken?" Sirius Black asked._

 _"No," said a scrawny boy with messy, black hair said. "You can sit down if you like."_

 _"Thank you," Sirius said, sitting._

 _"You're welcome," said the sandy-haired boy by the window. He turned and gave Sirius a half-smile and then quickly went back to staring at the platform._

 _"You're Black, aren't you?" the black haired boy said._

 _Sirius sighed but didn't deny it. "I'm Sirius," he said, picking at his robes._

 _"James," James Potter said, grinning. He held out his hand and Sirius shook it. "That's Remus-" Remus – the boy by the window - turned again and gave Sirius a real smile this time and shyly offered his hand. Sirius shook it, smiling back. "-and we don't know her name." Sirius turned noticing the other occupant of the compartment for the first time. It was a girl with bright red hair, green eyes and a miserable, teary expression._

 _She sniffled what could have been a greeting or what could have been nothing at all and Sirius nodded in her general direction before he turned back toward James and Remus._

 _Remus had produced a battered copy of_ The Standard Book of Spells _and was now reading it with a fascinated expression. James peered over at the page and wrinkled his nose. "Urgh. Curse of the Bogies," he said with a delicate shudder._

 _"Curse of the_ what? _" Sirius asked, eyes wide._

 _James poked Remus. "Hey, Remmy, show Sirius."_

 _Remus looked up, startled. "Pardon?" James tugged the book out of the other boy's hands and passed it to Sirius who made a face at the gruesome picture and pushed it away. James gave the heavy tome back to Remus with a grin._

 _Sirius watched their casual interaction with a twinge of jealousy. The only friends he'd ever had were his awful cousins and the spoilt pureblood children his parents forced him to be nice to when their social circle got together. The compartment door slid open to admit a gangly boy with greasy hair. Sirius opened his mouth to say hello but the boy went straight to the crying girl as if she was the only one there. Feeling lonelier than ever, Sirius made a face and turned back to James and Remus. "How long have you two known each other?"_

 _"About ten minutes," James said, shrugging. Sirius felt marginally better._

 _Remus marked his page and glanced at his watch. "Twelve minutes, actually."_

 _James laughed. "Fine. We'll call it eleven."_

 _"I'm telling you it's twelve," Remus said._

 _"Eleven," James sang, lying down on his seat. The crying girl and her friend gave him an annoyed look and shifted over to make room for his feet._

 _Sirius grinned. "I'd be listening to – Remus, was it? – he's got a watch." He and the sandy haired boy shared a grin._

 _"Fine," James said, making a face at the ceiling of the compartment. "Twelve minutes."_

 _"Thirteen, now actually," Remus corrected, looking apologetic._

 _James groaned and then perked up. "Slytherin?" he said in response to something the Snape boy had said. "Who'd want to be in Slytherin?" he asked sitting up. "I think I'd leave, wouldn't you?"_

 _Sirius saw Remus swallow and look away. His own smile faded. "My whole family have been in Slytherin," he said. And he would be too; it was expected, regardless of what he wanted._

 _"Blimey. And I thought you seemed all right!" James said, without the slightest malicious inflection in his tone._

 _Sirius found himself grinning and he could see Remus' mouth twitching. There was just something about James, something about his casual, friendly manner that was contagious. "Maybe I'll break the tradition. Where are you headed if you get the choice?"_

 _James lifted an invisible sword-_

 _-and toppled off his seat, dead, his face suddenly ten years older. Beside him lay Lily, unmoving, her green eyes staring without seeing. Remus turned to Sirius, hatred etched onto his pale, suddenly twenty-one-year old face. "It wasn't me!" Sirius shouted. "No, Moony, I wouldn't! I didn't kill them! I'm innocent, I swear!"_

Sirius Black's eyes snapped open and he sat up, panting. "I swear," he whispered, fully awake now. A feeling of loss crept over him as it did whenever he thought of James and Lily. He doubted he'd ever get over their deaths but he thought, in time, he could at least accept it if the Dementors would leave him alone, if they would stop reminding him of the emptiness that resided in the place where his heart had used to be.

He got to his feet ignoring the wasted feelings in his arms and legs. He tried to exercise as much as possible; when he wasn't sleeping, he was pacing. His cell was seven strides from one wall to the other and he knew every dull, grey brick, every rust spot on his iron barred doors and every speck of dirt or dust that covered the ground. "Innocent," he muttered as he walked.

The woman in the cell opposite his cackled, pressing her gaunt face up against her cell bars. Sirius paused to give her a pitying look – she'd only been there a month and was already insane – and then turned and strode back the other way.

On the seventh trip up his cell, he paused to pick up his sharp rock and used it to etch another small line into the wall behind him. There were two-thousand, six-hundred and fifty-one – now fifty-two – marks on the wall.

The human guards thought he was mad – after all, he'd been imprisoned exactly two-thousand, six-hundred and _fifty_ days – and though they'd tried, they hadn't yet been successful in figuring out what the extra two marks represented. If they'd asked, Sirius would have told them the marks were a record of the number of days that he and James and Lily had been apart, but they hadn't asked and Sirius had been left to dwell on his memorial to the two best people he'd ever known in solitude.

"Or at least a semblance of solitude," he muttered as the woman in the cell opposite his squealed and swatted at an invisible insect; real insects tended to stay clear of Azkaban. Her shouting got louder as she smacked her arms – presumably the 'insects' were landing on her – and then began to scratch herself. Her arms, her legs, even her cheeks were red and raw by the time she came to her senses. She pressed her palm to her shin and it came away red. She screamed.

Sirius shuddered and forced himself to keep pacing, though it did little to block out the noise; her shrieking was getting other prisoners worked up. Aside from the guards, the lack of warmth and the fact that he shouldn't be there in the first place, the inconsistency was one of the things Sirius hated most about Azkaban; one moment, things were quiet, the next, what seemed like every prisoner on the island was screeching or talking to themselves. Sirius covered his ears – stone and not much else made for one hell of an echo – but he was still able to sense footsteps.

"Found her!" a dark-skinned guard called, skidding to a halt with his back to Sirius' cell. "Merlin, would you look at the mess she's made?"

His partner arrived a moment later and pocketed his wand, staring at the bleeding woman. He ran a hand through his straw coloured hair. "Doesn't Parkinson usually give her a potion or something?"

The first guard swore. "He does. It's on my desk in the guardroom."

"Reckon we need it?"

"Nah. She's mad anyway."

Both guards stared at the woman. "Godric, they creep me out."

"I'm terribly sorry. We prisoners do _try_ to be as aesthetically pleasing as possible," Sirius said dryly. His voice cracked from lack of use, but he still thought he sounded witty enough. Both guards jumped.

"Don't get smart with me, Black," the blond one said, jabbing a finger in Sirius' direction.

"Wouldn't dream of it." Sirius began to pace again.

"Mental, the lot of them," the other muttered. "Stop your pacing, Black. You're getting everyone worked up."

Sirius snorted as he walked. "It's not me. It's her-" He nodded toward the bleeding woman who was now rocking back and forward. "-the prisoners can smell the blood."

"Good Godric I hate this place," the blond said with a shudder.

"Me too," Sirius muttered.

"That's enough out of you," the blond guard snapped. "Get a Dementor, would you, Jordan? I think Black's forgotten his place." Sirius retreated to the back corner of his cell as one of the guards disappeared. "Not so brave now, are you?"

Sirius glared at him. "I happen to like my soul where it is."

"Well, aren't you a funny one," said the guard, who Sirius hated more and more with each passing second.

"Not as funny as I used to be," Sirius croaked, tracing one of the lines on his wall with a wasted finger.

"That cell," said the other guard, who had returned with a Dementor behind him. "Black." The hooded figure glided forward, wrapping one of its skeletal hands around the iron bars of Sirius' cell.

Sirius shivered, reaching for his threadbare blanket. Flashes of that night, the night his world ended, danced before his eyes. _James, glasses askew and face forever frozen in shock, Lily, pale and still, with tears not yet dry on her cheeks, Harry, crying, his little face stained with blood, Hagrid, sobbing as he patted Sirius' shoulder and took away the first of the only two people Sirius had left, and though he'd never seen it, Remus, sobbing in an office that resembled Dumbledore's when he heard what had happened..._ And then his memory fogged over, leaving him with that familiar empty feeling and making him wonder if they were ever real at all. If they'd ever existed, or if they'd just been a dream. "Innocent," he whispered. "I'm innocent." _You killed them_. "No... no!"

He focused on Peter's face, the one face that would never fade from his memory, and with Peter came everything else; Lily and James – who was holding Harry – surrounded by tendrils of pale silvery magic as Peter's shrill voice promised to keep them safe, that sick feeling he'd had as he left Remus' house to check on Peter, the little smile on Peter's face as he blew up the street and the panic he'd felt when he almost hadn't got his Shield Charm up in time. "I'm innocent," he growled.

He opened his eyes and sat up, unable to recall closing them, or lying down. The guards were still there, watching him through the bars with identical, revolted expressions. The Dementor, though, appeared to have lost interest in him and floated toward the woman's cell. Her whimpers ceased and she crawled forward, reaching out to it with red-stained hands. Sirius felt the temperature drop and knew what was going to happen before it did. He looked away, swallowing bile as the Dementor drew in a rattling breath.

The guards yelled out and spun, but they weren't quick enough; the woman collapsed to the floor of her cell, a blank expression on her face. "Get back to your post," the blond guard snarled, giving the Dementor a vicious prod with his wand. The darker guard, who was retching a little ways down shivered at it glided past and, once he could stand upright again, fished around in his pocket and produced a Chocolate Frog. Sirius stared with longing as the guard stuffed it into his mouth.

"This never would have happened if Parkinson was here," he said, wiping his mouth. The smell clinging to his robes made Sirius wrinkle his nose.

"So you're saying this is my fault?"

"You did forget her potion."

The other guard let loose with a string of swear words and then unlocked the woman's cell. "Put her on her bed," he told his comrade.

"I don't think anyone deserves this," the darker guard said shakily, hoisting the woman into a sitting position.

"I don't think I deserve the paperwork that's going to come from this!" the other said angrily. Sirius was dying to hit him; a woman had been Kissed and the bastard was worried about _paperwork?!_ "So where _is_ Parkinson today?"

"I heard he was having one of the Malfoy brats over for lunch. Lucky bastard-"

"Lucky? Those little beasts are a handful-"

"No, not that. I pity any bloke who has to make small talk with Lucius Malfoy's spawn. I just meant he's lucky 'cause he gets off work." The woman keeled over with a quiet moan.

"Bloody buggering- help me, would you?" The two guards grabbed an arm each and lifted the woman over to her poor excuse for a bed; it was a pile of ragged blankets and a mouldy pillow. "I don't reckon it's worth it – Parkinson getting off work, I mean," said the blond guard as he wiped his hands on his robes. "Which kid's he entertaining?"

Sirius found himself listening raptly. He didn't get news about the outside world very often. He could probably count on one hand the number of conversations he'd overheard in Azkaban, and so far, this was most interesting since he'd heard about Alice and Frank, because he actually knew who they were talking about; his cousin Narcissa had married the Malfoy heir and it seemed Lucius was just as big a git now as he had been two-thousand, six-hundred and fifty-seven days or so ago, when Sirius had last seen him.

"The older one. Hyde or something." The name stirred something in Sirius' memory. He had a vague recollection of a _Daily Prophet_ report about a year before Harry was born, about his cousin almost miscarrying her first-born son.

"Ah, yes. Lucius Malfoy's miracle child. The _other_ Boy-Who-Lived."

"No, he should be The-Boy-Who-Lived," said the dark-haired guard. "Potter came after."

"Potter?" Sirius asked, perking up at the familiar name.

The guards gave him smug looks as they exited the cell opposite his. "The boy who destroyed your master, Black. Didn't you ever hear what happened?"

"Of course I heard," Sirius said, retreating back into his corner. "I just didn't realise he had such a ridiculous nickname. 'Boy-Who-Lived'. James and I used to call him 'Dark Lord's Downfall'." Sirius shut his mouth then, before he could let anything about the prophecy slip.

"You've got some nerve," the blond guard spat. "Talking about _them_." Sirius wiped spittle off his cheek and turned to face the wall, tracing the lines again. Godric he missed them. The guard laughed. "That shut him up."

"He has a point, though," the second guard said. "Maybe someone _should_ give Potter a new nickname."

"Why?"

"Cause now there'll be two Boys-Who-Lived at Hogwarts, in the same year, no less."

The other laughed. "A Potter and two Malfoys... and there'll probably be a Weasley or two... the school isn't going to know what hit them!"

They both laughed at the joke – which really wasn't that funny in Sirius' opinion – and then the darker guard spoke up. "Come on. If we've got any hope of getting home at a decent hour we'd better start on that damned paperwork."

The blond guard slumped, following his companion out of Sirius' line of sight.

* * *

Sirius slept fretfully that night, if he slept at all; it was often hard to tell in Azkaban.

 _He dreamed that a boy, a boy who looked just as James had at eleven - messy hair and all - came to stand outside his cell while he slept. In the dream, Sirius woke and the boy looked at him with disappointed eyes - which were flickering between James' hazel and Lily's green - as he ran a finger over the bars of the cell. "You've failed me," he said, scratching at a piece of rust._

 _"No," Sirius said._ Damn those bloody guards for talking about James and Harry _. "No, please!"_

 _"Failed," the boy, who could have been James or his godson – and frankly, Sirius didn't know which scared him more – repeated. And then, he turned and walked away._

 _Sirius didn't think; he leapt to his feet, determined to follow, no matter the cost. He transformed into Padfoot and stuck his head through the bars of his cell. The boy vanished around a corner. He whined and wriggled his body through the bars._ Wait! _he thought as orange flakes of rust were prised off the bars and fluttered to the ground like snow or embedded themselves in his shaggy fur. He changed back on the outside and looked around for the boy. "Wait!" he shouted again._

 _"It's too late for that," he heard._

 _"No, damn you! Wait!" Sirius shouted. He forced his wasted muscles to move and after his eighth step, a small part of his mind noted – even if he was dreaming - it was the furthest he'd walked in a straight line in seven years._

 _"Failed..."_

 _"Wait!"_

Sirius woke up with a yell. He was standing waist deep in cold, salty water. "What the fuck?" He stared at his sopping clothes and, after employing more of his favourite swear words, clambered back onto the rocky ground where he collapsed, shivering.

 _All right,_ he told his racing mind. _All right, so I had a dream, where I broke out of my cell as a dog and then I wake up and I'm out and just about ready to swim back to shore. Either I'm free, or I've lost my mind._ He found himself leaning toward the latter, but that didn't explain why his thoughts were clearer than they had been in years or why he was wet... _So I'm free then..._

"How the fuck did that happen?" he asked the overcast sky. It disdained to answer. Sirius scowled and then decided he didn't care. What mattered was that he was free. And that he wasn't going back to his cell. Ever. Partially because he doubted he'd be able to find it again, and partially because he didn't _want_ to find it again. _I need to get off the island somehow..._

 _Wand,_ was his next coherent thought. _Before I can do anything, I need a wand. My wand._ And he knew how to get it.

One of the most strictly enforced Wizarding Laws stated that a wand – being an incredibly powerful and, at times, volatile, magical object – once in the custody of an Auror or Hit-Wizard, could not be destroyed without a court order. Another curious fact about this particular law was that it was not public knowledge. Only those who had been trained in either Wizarding Law or Wizarding Law Enforcement were supposed to know, because it was such an effective threat.

When Sirius graduated from Hogwarts, he and James had joined the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, where they studied for a year and a half to become Aurors. Usually, it took three years to get through the rigorous Auror Training Program, but with help from Mad-Eye, a lot of sleepless nights and the fact that the Wizarding world was at war and the Ministry needed everyone available to be fighting, Sirius – along with James – had been able to do it in half the time.

Because of this training, it just so happened that Sirius knew of the laws regarding wand-snapping, and because of an arsehole named Bartemius Crouch, is just so happened that Sirius filled the requirements; he had been denied any form of trial and whisked off to Azkaban by the next available Portkey, which meant his wand should have been filed away in the prison guardroom with the short-term prisoners' belongings...

Without conscious thought – he suspected it was very much a survival instinct by this point – Sirius transformed. A few minutes later, at the entrance to Azkaban's guardroom, a huge, black, bear-like dog that was thin to the point of emaciation, slipped past a pair of Dementors.

Another ten minutes saw Sirius back down on the rocky beach, pocketing a thin wooden stick and a small mirror that he had had in his pocket when he was arrested. He'd already tried to call James with it and he'd seen a glimpse of James' smiling face before it became too much and he ended the connection.

He hadn't bothered trying to Apparate; there would likely be wards against it, and even if there weren't, his mind wasn't focused enough for him to do it without Splinching himself. _Looks like I'm swimming after all,_ he thought grimly as he transformed back into Padfoot. It really wasn't that far – he could see land from where he was - but the water was rough and there was so much of it, and it was so open...

He shook himself. Seven years. Seven years, he'd spent, locked up for a crime he hadn't committed. In fact, he'd probably done enough time in prison to compensate for every bad thing he'd ever done, thought about doing, or would do in the future. While he wouldn't have ever broken out on his own, there was no way he'd willingly go back to life in that hell-hole when freedom was so close.

There hadn't been much point in him escaping before now, or even trying to; Peter was probably cowering under a rock somewhere where Sirius would never find him, or he would be as soon as he heard that he'd broken out, Harry – who Hagrid had said was going to Lily's sister Petunia – was probably counting down the years he had left until he could go to Hogwarts, and Remus... since he hadn't visited or made any attempts to contact Sirius, probably didn't know that Peter was the traitor and, Sirius guessed, would have spent the last seven years mourning Lily, James and the rat and dwelling on his hatred for Sirius.

 _I'll have to find them,_ Sirius thought. _Harry, to see if he's happy, Peter, to prove I'm innocent and once I've done that I can find Moony, to explain everything, to apologise..._ _And that's not going to happen if I don't get my arse off this bloody rock._

Sirius took a deep breath and waded out into the murky water.

* * *

"Mrs Peterson!"

"What, Dudley?"

"Harry's copying my worksheet!"

Mrs Patricia Peterson had been a teacher at St Grogory's Primary School for seventeen years. Since eleven of these years had been spent in the same classroom teaching Year Four children, it was safe to say Mrs Peterson had seen her fair share of eight-and-nine-year-olds. She had thought herself well-equipped to deal with any child. And then she had met Harry Potter.

"Potter, are you copying your cousin's worksheet?"

"No, Mrs Peterson," the boy said quietly.

"Don't lie," Dudley told his cousin.

"Says you," Potter muttered. Mrs Peterson couldn't for the life of her remember when she'd started addressing the boy as 'Potter' instead of 'Harry'. She supposed she had picked it up from the rest of the class and, since it didn't seem to make a difference to the boy, she hadn't bothered to correct herself.

"Mrs Peterson!" Dudley wailed, scrunching up his round face.

"That's enough!" Mrs Peterson gave Linda back her worksheet and walked over to the boys' desk. "Dudley, you don't need to keep shouting at me because I was already listening and, Potter, I've told you I won't tolerate lying in my classroom." Some of the other students sniggered as Potter flushed.

"I'm not lying, Mrs Peterson," he said, staring up at her with those big, bespectacled green eyes.

How a child could look so pitiful while being such a monster was beyond her, but somehow, Potter pulled it off. He was unnaturally polite, which she didn't buy for a moment; the boy was probably trying to win her over as he had won Mrs Baddams last year. "Worksheet," she said briskly, holding out her hand.

He passed it over without a word. She checked it, noting the lack of working out and passed it back. "Detention today at lunch," she said. Dudley sniggered. Potter, if it was possible, looked relieved and nodded.

"Dudley, worksheet," she said. He passed it to her and found the answers the same as the Potter boy's had been, also with no working out. "Excellent work as usual. Yes, Katrina?" She saw Potter's hand tighten around his pencil as she walked away.

She gave them five more minutes to work on their maths problems. "You can do the rest for homework," she told the class. "Now, who's going to write the best story?" Everyone looked at Katrina, who blushed and ducked her pig-tailed head. "You have one hour to write and the topic is... wishes. Get started." She retreated to her desk as pencils started scratching on desk-tops.

Mrs Peterson watched her class with a warm smile. Felicity would no doubt write something about horses, Malcolm was fond of stories about football stars, while Linda like dancers and Hannah liked cats. She was almost excited to read their stories; under her careful eye, the quality of her students' writing had improved significantly and the absence of bothersome spelling and grammatical errors made reading their work almost enjoyable.

Mrs Peterson watched them all for a moment longer- smiling at the way Gordon pulled a face every time he had to erase something and the way Hannah sighed and rubbed graphite off her left hand every so often – before she pulled her copy of _Oliver Twist_ out of her desk drawer. It was one of her favourite books, though, as a teacher, it broke her heart to see Oliver – even if he was just a character – living in such horrible conditions; little food, no family and forced into what could only be described as slavery... it made her cry every time.

"Mrs Peterson?"

"Hmm? Oh, yes, Gordon?"

"It's past an hour," the boy said, sucking on the end of his pencil. She became aware that most of the class had put their pencils down and were watching her. Potter, at the back of the classroom, was the only one not looking in her direction. He was reading his story with a funny expression she couldn't quite place.

"So it has," she said marking the page. "I expect good things from these," she said as she collected them, "since I gave you an extra fifteen minutes. Thank you, dear. If you've given me your story, you can go to lunch." With a collective whoop, her class charged out, leaving Potter sitting in his chair. "Story," she said holding out an impatient hand.

"What would you like me to do?" he asked.

"Lines today," she said with a sigh as she straightened the pile of stories. "'I will not copy other people's work'. Twenty times should do it and then you can go to lunch."

"Yes, Mrs Peterson," Potter said, tearing sheet of paper out of his workbook.

 _Odd that he never argues... I suppose he knows it wouldn't work, or perhaps he knows he deserves it..._ She sat back down at her desk and pulled Potter's story towards her.

 _Once, there was a boy called James,_ Potter had written. _James lives with his mum and dad. Every morning James wakes up in his bedroom and goes to the kitchen where his mum gives him breakfast. His dad drives him to school and after school his mum and dad take him to the park. After they get home from the park, they help James with his homework. Every night, James' mum makes dinner and it tastes good. Sometimes James helps because he wants to, not because he has to. They all eat at the table together and sometimes James has second helpings. At night, they tell stories and they tuck James into his bed and tell him they love him. James tells them he loves them back and then he goes to sleep. If he has a bad dream, he gets to tell them about it and sleep in their bed until he feels better. James doesn't need to wish for anything because he already has everything._

"Potter."

"Yes, Mrs Peterson?" Potter put his pencil down and looked up.

"You don't need to call me Mrs Peterson every time we talk," she said irritably. "We've discussed this."

"Sorry, Mrs Peterson- I mean, sorry."

"Apology accepted. Come over here, please. I'd like to talk to you about your story."

"My-my story?"

"Yes, now, aside from the fact that I gave you an hour and you've barely written a paragraph, you haven't stuck to the topic. What did I say you had to write about?"

"Wishes, Mrs Peterson." So he had been listening.

"Yes, and what did you write about?"

"Wishes coming true."

"No, Potter, you didn't." Potter opened his mouth to say something and then closed it again. "You wrote about things that happen every day, when I wanted you to write about something you _wish_ could happen." Potter had the audacity to look confused. "Things that don't happen all the time," she said, trying to get him to understand.

Potter frowned. "But I don't get to spend time with my parents."

"Why not?" She knew the boy lived with his Aunt and Uncle but had always thought it was because his parents were incapable of looking after him. Mrs Peterson had heard a rumour that the father was a drunk and the mother unfaithful, a woman who wouldn't know what real love looked like if it invited itself to tea. It would certainly explain why Potter had turned out the way he had.

"They're dead."

She felt a twinge of pity for the boy she didn't particularly like. "Is that what you meant?" He nodded. "Well, I _suppose_ that counts but the rest of the story is just about your life with your Aunt and Uncle. That's not very creative."

"You think it's just like my life with-?" Potter seemed to realise he was talking out loud and stopped. "Right," he said stiffly, his jaw clenched. "Should I write it again?"

"No, no." Mrs Peterson swallowed, the phrase 'If looks could kill' running through her head as Potter glared and then walked stiffly back to his desk and sat down. "No. Another ten lines will do. 'I will follow instructions'." Potter picked up his pencil, which snapped in his hand. He looked up and jumped about a foot out of his seat, eyes wide.

"What are you looking at, Potter?"

"N-nothing," he said, not looking at her. He picked up one of his pencil halves and started to write, though he sneaked furtive glances in her direction when he thought she wasn't looking.

Mrs Peterson was midway through Piers' story about pirates when there was a knock on the classroom door. "Come in," she said without looking up. She scribbled a comment on the story – Piers was a wonderfully imaginative boy, but he did tend to write about fighting quite a lot – and pulled another piece of work over.

"Hello, Patricia, do you still have my poetry antholo-?"

"Hello, Sue, no, I don't," Mrs Peterson said looking up from Emma's story about becoming a princess. "Anne had it. Why are you staring?"

"Blue," Sue said faintly. "Why is your hair _blue?_ "

"My hair?" Sue nodded. A horrible suspicion formed in Mrs Peterson's mind. "Potter!" she screeched. "What did you do?!" Potter paled, staring at her with wide green eyes, but he didn't answer. "I'll have to write home about this," she told him as Sue slipped out of the classroom, looking as if she was trying not to laugh. "Now, what did you do to my wig?!"

"I-I didn't..." Potter stammered. "I didn't touch your hai- er... wig, I swear." But he didn't look sure of that. In fact, e looked a little worried.

 _You did it you little monster, I know you did,_ she thought viciously. "I'm sending you home. You're to give this report to your Aunt and I'll be calling tonight to make sure you do." Potter's expression was horrified.

She pulled a pen out of her tin and wrote, _Dear Mrs Dursley,_

 _I don't know how or why it happened, but your nephew has somehow managed to turn my wig blue._

 _I have suspended him from this afternoon's lessons as punishment – he will need to catch up in his own time._

 _I trust you to take any extra disciplinary action you deem necessary,_

 _Yours Sincerely,_

 _Patricia Peterson._

She folded the paper in half and stuffed it into an envelope which she addressed to Mrs Dursley. "Here," she said, thrusting it at the now terrified Potter. "Take that home for your Aunt to read."

"Y-yes, Mrs Peterson," he stammered, placing the envelope into his schoolbag.

"And remember, I'll be calling tonight to follow it up." Potter nodded and fled.

Mrs Peterson had no way of knowing it would be the last time he ever passed under her classroom doorway.


	2. Chapter 2

"Ow! Dudley, stop!" cried the smaller of the boys who were tussling on the grass under a large tree. The blond woman with them glanced up at the sound, shifted on the park bench and slowly lowered her pale eyes back to the magazine she was reading.

The bigger boy, Dudley, tightened his grip on a chunk of his cousin's messy, black hair and gave him shake for good measure. "Make me," he sang, a grin spreading across his pink face.

Harry glanced up at his aunt, who was pointedly ignoring them and then back at his tormentor. He sighed and pinched Dudley's fat arm. His cousin howled and let go while Harry rolled away and sprang to his feet, ready to- "What did you do?" his Aunt Petunia demanded, hurrying over.

"He-He hurt me-e-e!" Dudley wailed, scrunching up his face. Aunt Petunia inspected the little red mark on his arm, kissed it better and rounded on her nephew.

"He pulled my hair," Harry said defensively.

"Perhaps if it wasn't so long, he wouldn't have been able to," she snapped. She grabbed a handful in her bony fingers and gave a tug, rather harder than her son had. Tears –real ones, not fake ones like Dudley's – sprang up in Harry's eyes. "It needs a cut. Tonight, I'll-"

"M-mum!" Dudley sobbed.

"I know, Popkin," she said, adopting a kinder tone the minute she stopped talking to Harry. "Here, up we get." Dudley reached up to her, obviously wanting to be carried. Aunt Petunia took her son's hand instead. She'd long since stopped carrying him, claiming he was too old for that. Harry suspected it had more to do with his cousin's size, and that if Dudley wasn't so fat, his Aunt would still carry him everywhere. "Don't come back until you've thought about what you've done," she called without turning. Dudley looked over his shoulder as the pair of them left the playground and gave Harry a smug look.

"Yes, Aunt Petunia," Harry muttered, kicking the grass. He swiped his tears away, made his way over to the swings and sat down, one hand wrapping around the chain, his feet making holes in the bark-chips. He already knew what he'd done wrong – he'd hurt Dudley – but there was no way he was going back to Number Four for quite some time; he knew from past experience that, the moment he got home, he'd be locked in his cupboard for the night and being bored at a playground was better than being bored at home.

"Excuse me?" Harry looked up, startled, to see a tall man – yes, it was definitely a man, even if he was wearing a dress - with shaggy, shoulder-length black hair standing next to him. The man's grey eyes were distant and intense all at once and vaguely familiar but Harry didn't know where from. "Is that seat taken?" the man asked quietly, pointing to the other swing. His voice was friendly, but scratchy as if he hadn't used it in a while; it matched the man's gaunt appearance.

"No," Harry said. "You can sit down if you like," he added, when the man made no move to do so. He was just staring at Harry, looking happy and sad at the same time.

"Thank you," the man said, sitting. Harry nodded and went back to staring at his trainers. "My name's Padfoot."

"Harry," Harry said, frowning slightly as he looked up. "Do I know you from somewhere?" he heard himself ask.

"Maybe," the man – Padfoot – said nonchalantly. "I've been on the news recently."

"Oh," Harry said. He'd heard that tone before – Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon used it when people came to the house – it meant he wasn't lying, but that he was leaving something out. "What for?"

Padfoot was quiet for a long time. "I broke out of prison," he admitted, with a sheepish smile. Harry's eyes widened. He leapt off the swing, backing away from the strange man with the strange name in his strange clothes. Harry's eyes flicked toward the general area of his house. He was fast thanks to years of practice at running away from Dudley but he didn't think he would be able to get there before Padfoot caught him. "I'm not going to hurt you, Harry," Padfoot said, patting the swing. Harry watched him warily. "I promise," Padfoot said smiling as he patted the seat again. "I just want to talk."

Harry sat, unable to help but feel a little suspicious. "Why?"

"You seem like a nice kid. Maybe we can be friends."

"Friends?" Harry asked, his eyebrows shooting up. He'd never had a friend before. Dudley had made sure of that. "But you- prison-" He was a little tempted to befriend the man, purely to see the look on his Aunt's face is he bought this criminal in his strange, dirty clothes home.

Padfoot sighed. "Have you ever been in trouble for doing something you didn't do?" Harry nodded slowly. That happened to him all the time. Once, he had been running away from Dudley and his gang and ended up on the roof of the school kitchens. He had no idea how it had happened – all he could think was that when he'd jumped to hide behind the big rubbish bins, the wind had caught him. And, only last week he'd had to take that school report home to inform the Dursleys about the incident with Mrs Peterson's wig; today was the first day since then that he'd been let out of his cupboard. "It was like that."

"Did it help that you told them you didn't?" If they were anything like the Dursleys, it wouldn't have.

"I didn't have a chance," Padfoot said, fiddling with his frayed sleeve. "No one listened because they were so bloody- er... angry," he amended with a quick glance at Harry who smirked, "and they wouldn't have believed me anyway."

"I believe you," Harry offered. Padfoot didn't seem like the sort of person who deserved to be locked up.

"Thanks, kid," Padfoot said, smiling. Harry nodded. "So, what about you? Ever broken out of prison?" Harry laughed and shook his head. His cupboard was more or less a prison but he wasn't meant to talk about it. "What do you like to do, then?"

"Er..." Harry said, "well, I cook a lot." He didn't particularly enjoy cooking – at least not for the Dursleys – but he'd rather cook than weed the garden or help Dudley tidy his spare bedroom.

"Do you read?" Padfoot asked. "Play any sports?"

Harry hesitated. He was always picked last in team games – just last week, Ben Forster who had a broken arm had been chosen before him – and he was always the first one out in games like dodge-ball, not due to lack of skill, but because Dudley and his gang always targeted him first, even if they were on the same side. "I suppose I like sports but I don't get to play very often and Dudley doesn't read so we don't have many books."

"Why don't they buy you your own books?" Padfoot asked slowly. Harry shrugged. Padfoot stared at him. "Your clothes," he said finally, running a hand over his chin, "were they Dudley's?" Harry nodded, plucking a loose strand off his too-big jumper. "Do you have anything that's yours?"

"There's nothing wrong with hand-me-downs," he said dutifully repeating Aunt Petunia's words. He started to kick the bark-chips again.

"Never said there was," Padfoot said quickly. He was quiet for a bit and then asked, "If you could have one thing – anything – what would it be?"

Harry, who'd never been asked such a question before wasn't quite sure what to say. He took a moment to think about his answer and then said, "My parents." He didn't really mind that he was talking to a complete stranger. Padfoot watched him sadly. "They died in a car crash when I was a baby."

"C-car-crash?" Padfoot choked. "A car crash?"

"Yeah," Harry said. "I don't remember it but that's where I got my scar." He brushed his fringe aside but Padfoot didn't look, which was odd. Most people Harry met seemed fascinated by it, even if he didn't show it first. Harry felt himself liking Padfoot more by the moment. He, aside from Mrs Figg, was the only person who didn't treat him like dirt, or, alternatively, with awe, neither of which Harry particularly liked.

"Car crash?" Padfoot said again, louder this time. Harry couldn't quite place his tone, but at a guess, he would have said he was shocked and maybe even angry. "They told you it was a car crash?!" Harry nodded apprehensively; he'd spent enough time around his cousin and Uncle to recognise a tantrum brewing. Padfoot stood suddenly. "Are you coming?" he asked, already striding across the grass.

Harry got up and followed after a moment's hesitation; he'd expected yelling – what for he didn't quite know – and he didn't quite know what to make of this calm fury. "Where are we going?"

"Your house," Padfoot said briskly.

"My-my house?" Harry repeated, just to make sure he'd heard right.

Padfoot didn't answer; he was muttering about something called Dumbledore and stupid muggles, neither of which made any sense to Harry. He walked without talking all the way down Magnolia Road – Harry jogging to keep up – then hesitated on the corner of Magnolia Crescent. "Which way now?" he asked.

"I'm not supposed to bring strangers home," Harry said.

"I know your aunt," Padfoot said impatiently. "Petunia, isn't it? Tall, skinny woman. Married to Vernon, a fat bloke with no neck and an ugly moustache."

"That's them," Harry said, trying not to laugh. He led Padfoot – who was still muttering about car crashes - down Magnolia Crescent, through the side alley onto Wisteria Walk and then onto Privet Drive. At this point Padfoot seemed to recognise the street and led Harry all the way to Number Four's driveway. He paused by the door and then, with an oddly triumphant look, jabbed the doorbell.

"James didn't even own a damn car!" he growled as they waited.

"James?" Harry said. "Wait, did you know my-?"

"Took you long enough!" he heard Aunt Petunia say as the locks on the door clicked. "Go apologise to Diddy and then you can go and stir the- Oh!" she said, as she opened the door and saw Padfoot. Her pale eyes narrowed as they drifted over his unusual clothes, and then up to his face. Aunt Petunia _never_ forgot a face. "What did you do?" she hissed, spotting Harry who froze in the driveway.

"I d-" Harry stammered.

"A car crash?" Padfoot said softly. Aunt Petunia paled. "You told him that Lily and James died in a car crash?"

"Get inside," she snapped, jabbing a bony finger at Harry. "Go to your cu- room," she said, her eyes flicking to Padfoot. "That Dumbledore man promised your kind would leave us alone. You aren't welcome here." Harry, who was walking very slowly toward the door, - trying to hear as much as possible - wondered who or what Padfoot's 'kind' was.

"I'm not welcome in a lot of places at the moment," Padfoot said, folding his arms.

"Inside!" Aunt Petunia snapped at Harry, who had just bent to tie his shoelace to buy himself more time to listen.

"They didn't even own a car!" Padfoot said, throwing his arms up in the air.

"I'll call the police," she told him.

"Try," Padfoot said, twirling a long wooden stick – which he'd pulled from somewhere in his clothes - between his long fingers.

"Put that away," Aunt Petunia said, her voice shaking ever so slightly. "I don't want any of... of... _that_ here."

"Any of what?" Harry asked.

"I said inside!" she shrieked. Mrs Farey from Number Seven across the street looked up. Harry scampered into the house, ducking the swipe she aimed at his ear. "You too," Aunt Petunia said to Padfoot. "I'm not discussing this out here." Harry darted down the hallway and into his cupboard. He closed the door most of the way but left a small crack which he pressed his ear to. "And make sure you wipe your shoes on the mat. You're filthy."

"A car crash?" Harry heard Padfoot say loudly as soon as the front door clicked shut.

"Keep your voice down," Aunt Petunia snapped. "Yes, we told the boy it was a car crash. What else were we supposed to say? That a lunatic blew them up?" Harry's hand moved up to trace the lightning-bolt scar on his forehead. _Blew them up_... _?_

"That's exactly what you should have told him! He has a right to know why he's living here, a right to know why his parents are dead! They _died_ to save him and you told him it was an accident?!" Harry took a deep breath and realised with a jolt he'd stopped breathing.

"We didn't have a choice," Aunt Petunia said frostily. "We want him normal, like Dudley." There was no doubt who she was talking about. "Telling him stories like that would make him wonder why they were killed and we don't like questions. He'd push us and we'd have to tell him the whole freaky story, about my unnatural sister, the Snape boy and that wretched Potter."

"And what's wrong with that?" Padfoot demanded.

"I not having any of that in this house," Aunt Petunia said shrilly. "When we took him in, we swore to put a stop to all of that freakish nonsense. Telling him things like that would encourage unnatural behaviour and-"

"What about when he goes to Hogwarts?" Padfoot asked. "Everyone knows his story, everyone but him, apparently-"

"That doesn't matter. He's not going."

"Not going?!" Padfoot shouted sounding angry again. "What in the name of Merlin's toenails do you mean he's not bloody going?!"

"I won't have one in the house," Aunt Petunia said, with an air of finality.

"You can't just decide that. You can't just ignore it and hope it'll all go away."

"It seems to be working well so far," Aunt Petunia snapped, "and I'll thank you not to tell me how to raise my own nephew."

Padfoot's reply was lost in the sound of the front door flinging open. "Evening, Petunia dea-" Harry heard his uncle say. "Who's this?"

"I'm a friend of Lily's," Padfoot said before Aunt Petunia could say anything. "We've met before-"

"You!" Uncle Vernon roared. Harry could tell, just from the volume of his voice that his face was already purple. "You! Get out of my house!"

"I've come to talk to you about Harry," Padfoot said calmly.

"Get out!" Uncle Vernon bellowed again. "BOY!" Harry jumped at being addressed, lost his footing and tripped out of his cupboard, landing sprawled in the hallway. He stared at the glossy black shoes in front of him and slowly looked up to see his Uncle's purple face. _I knew it,_ he thought dazedly. "What did you do?!"

"Nothing," Harry said hastily, scrambling to his feet.

"What did you tell him?!" Uncle Vernon shouted, spraying Harry with spittle. His meaty hand grabbed Harry's baggy shirt and gave him a shake.

"Enough!" Padfoot shouted. There was a bang and Uncle Vernon released Harry with a yell and stepped back, cradling his now very red fingers. Harry took a step back and straightened his glasses. Padfoot looked furious, but not, Harry didn't think, at him. "You and your wife," he snarled at Uncle Vernon, "out. I need to talk to Harry."

"This is my house!" Uncle Vernon shouted, his moustache quivering. "You can't tell me what to do!"

"Oh, I think I can," Padfoot growled, twirling his stick. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon gave both Harry and Padfoot one last look of pure hatred and stalked down the hall and into the kitchen. "Are you all right?" Padfoot asked Harry, tucking the stick into a pocket of his dress.

"I'm fine."

Padfoot didn't look convinced but he didn't push the point. "How much did you hear?" he asked.

"Something about a car crash but not much else," said Harry, not meeting Padfoot's grey stare.

"I could always tell when James was lying and you've inherited his face," Padfoot said conversationally. "How much did you really hear?"

"All of it," Harry admitted sheepishly.

"I thought so." Padfoot sighed, running a hand through his dark hair. "This is not going the way I thought it would," he muttered before letting out another sigh.

"You planned this?" Harry asked doubtfully.

"Planned? Nah, I just- It wasn't- You were supposed to be happy," he sighed. "You were supposed to be playing pranks on your Aunt and Uncle with your cousin! You were supposed to know all about your mum and dad! You were supposed to be excited, because you've only got two and a half years until Hogwarts!"

"Sorry," Harry said quickly.

"It's not your fault," Padfoot said, looking shocked. "It's theirs." He jabbed a finger in the direction of the kitchen, where Harry could hear his Aunt and Uncle arguing. "They want you to be 'normal'... What a load of hippogriff dung."

"Hippo-what?"

"Hippogriff- Never mind." Padfoot began to mutter under his breath about 'James', 'Lily', 'Dursley', 'Dumbledore' and 'Aurors'.

"Erm... Mr Padfoot...?"

Padfoot blinked and then laughed. "Just Padfoot, Harry."

"Did you really know my parents?"

Padfoot looked down at Harry with a sad smile. "You look a lot like your dad, you know," he said, "but you have your mum's eyes."

"Really?" Harry asked, hoarding this knowledge away.

Padfoot nodded and pulled a small mirror out of his pocket. "James Potter," he said softly and then turned it toward Harry. The mirror was clearly not a mirror. Harry decided it was a sort of pocket television - though he didn't know how that was possible, since every telly he'd ever seen was bulky - because when he looked into it, he saw his father. James Potter was a handsome, messy-haired man with a long nose, bright hazel eyes and a happy, friendly smile. James waved and then turned to laugh at someone Harry couldn't see. "Can I see my mum too?"

"It doesn't work like that, kiddo," Padfoot said apologetically.

Harry was a little disappointed but he nodded. He'd seen a few photographs of his mother when he helped Aunt Petunia clean out the attic, but she'd been younger than he was in most of them. "What were they like?"

"Lily was... well, she was brilliant. Beautiful inside and out and probably the nicest person I've ever met, though she did have a bit of a temper. James... was funny and brave... stubborn too. Bit of a prat at times but aren't we all? He was the best friend anyone could ever have."

"Were you close?"

"They were my family," Padfoot croaked. He cleared his throat loudly and was quiet for a moment. Harry waited patiently. "Your dad and I were so close people thought we were brothers, and your mum and I had a rocky start but she was like my sister by the end."

"So are we related?" Harry asked.

Padfoot smiled. "Second cousins – your great grandparents are the same as mine; Cygnus and Violetta Black." He swallowed, looking decidedly nervous. "I'm also your godfather... They - your mum and dad – wanted me to look after you if anything ever happened to them. But then, well, I was arrested and Dumbledore brought you here."

"But now you're free," Harry said, wondering if Padfoot was saying what he thought he was saying.

"Not free," Padfoot said, "but I am out of prison." He stared at his feet for a long time and then looked up again, seeming agitated. "Under normal circumstances, I'd never ask this; you're – what – eight and a half? And I'm trying to evade Aurors and the rest of the Ministry, but if you want... another home-"

"Another home?" Harry asked, his voice climbing an octave. "As in, away from the Dursleys?"

"It's fine if you don't want to," Padfoot said quickly.

"I want to!" Harry half-shouted.

"Really?" Padfoot asked, beaming. Harry nodded emphatically. "Are you sure? I don't know what state the house is in yet, and it might be dangerous – like I said, there are people after me-"

"I want to," Harry said, hardly believing what he was hearing. He'd always dreamed that an unknown relative would come and take him away and now, Padfoot, his dad's best friend, was offering to do just that.

"I have no idea what to do with a kid," Padfoot continued. "Moony always said I'd make a terrible father..."

"You can't be any worse than the Dursleys," Harry said bluntly.

Padfoot grinned a little ruefully. "I guess not." He paused, running a hand over his cheeks. "Merlin, this visit is definitely not going the way I thought it would."

"What...?"

"I was going to come and see you," Padfoot admitted, "maybe get to know you a bit. And then I was going to go into hiding while I figured out how to make everyone else see that I'm innocent. After that I would have come back and made you the same offer as I am now."

"I can help you prove you're innocent," Harry said.

"I appreciate the gesture, Harry," he said with a snort, "but me adopting you is going to look pretty bad. Everyone will think I've kidnapped you for Voldemort-"

" _Who?_ "

Padfoot sighed. "I keep forgetting you don't know, but I don't have time to tell you now. I need to leave before someone sees me here and calls the D.M.L.E.-"

"The what?" Harry asked.

"Department of Magical Law Enforcement," Padfoot said. He waved a hand to cut off Harry's exclamations of "Magic!" and "You can't say that word here; Uncle Vernon hates it". "If you're coming, you'd better pack." Harry pulled open the door of his cupboard. "I-is that a bed?" Padfoot spluttered, peering in. Harry shrugged, grabbed his rucksack and started tossing clothes into it. "You-They make you sleep in here?"

Harry shrugged again, stuffing a pair of Uncle Vernon's old socks into a pocket. "I'm ready," he announced a moment later, hoisting his rucksack on.

Padfoot was staring at the spider in the corner of the roof. He shook himself. "Here, let me," he said, reaching for Harry's bag. Harry stared at him. "Here," Padfoot said impatiently. Harry passed it over with a curious look at his godfather. Padfoot slung it over his shoulder and led Harry down the hall and into the kitchen.

Dudley was playing with Glen, his tortoise; the poor creature was currently being flown over Dudley's empty plate, accompanied by noises better suited to a rocket-ship than a reptile. Aunt Petunia hadn't touched her food at all, but kept sipping at her glass of water, while Uncle Vernon – whose plate was empty – drummed his thick fingers on the table. All three of them looked up at Harry and Padfoot.

"Leaving are you?" Aunt Petunia said waspishly, her pale eyes darting over Padfoot.

"Yes."

"About time," Uncle Vernon grumbled.

"I'm taking Harry with me."

"Taking the boy?" Aunt Petunia said, sounding puzzled. "Where?"

"I'm going to live with him," Harry said.

"You can't."

"I'm his godfather," Padfoot said indignantly. "If he wants to live with me, you can't stop him." Aunt Petunia's lips thinned. Her chair scraped as she stood and left the room. Everyone watched her go. She returned about thirty seconds later with a pink tinge in her cheeks and a crumpled letter which she handed to Padfoot. She sat down again, studiously avoiding Uncle Vernon's eyes. Padfoot read the letter quickly and then passed it back. "I'm still taking him." Dudley, who was craning his neck to try to read it slipped off his seat. Harry turned his laugh into a cough and swore he saw his godfather's mouth twitch.

"But the protection... he won't be safe..." Aunt Petunia said, looking at Harry.

"I can take care of him," Padfoot said, resting a hand on Harry's shoulder.

Aunt Petunia pursed her lips as though she doubted this but all she said was, "I suppose I'll need to call Mrs Figg and tell her you won't be coming over tomorrow."

"We won't be sending you money," Uncle Vernon said. "If you want the boy, you can pay for him."

"Money won't be a problem," Padfoot assured them. He looked down at Harry. "Would you like a minute to say goodbye?"

"Bye," Harry told the Dursleys. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Padfoot press his lips together to keep from laughing.

"So, wait... you're leaving?" Dudley said, picking himself up off the floor.

"Yep," Harry said.

Dudley frowned and then stuck out his pink hand. "Bye, then."

Harry shook it feeling rather silly. "Yeah, bye. Bye, Glen," he added for good measure as Aunt Petunia flung her arms around her son.

"I think I'm going to be sick," Padfoot muttered over Aunt Petunia's wailed praise for Dudley's manners. "All set, kid?" Harry grinned, nodding. The two of them left the kitchen followed by Uncle Vernon who was humming under his breath and looked as if he might break out in a jig at any moment. As they walked down the familiar hallway, Harry took one last glance at his cupboard and smiled slightly. Padfoot followed his gaze. "You sure this is everything?" he asked, tapping the strap of Harry's rucksack.

"Pretty sure," Harry said, grinning. He was leaving Privet Drive! It was actually happening! He cast a quick look at his Uncle who opened the front door, looking the happiest Harry had ever seen him. Harry followed Padfoot outside and turned, racking his brain for something to say; what did one say at the end of seven and a half years of mutual dislike? _Thank you, maybe...?_ Harry thought. _But for what?_ No sooner than Harry opened his mouth to say 'Bye' again, Uncle Vernon snapped the door closed. _Well that makes things easier._

"Git," Padfoot muttered with a dark look at Number Four. "Ah, well. Not our problem anymore." Harry took one last look at Number Four before following Padfoot down his Aunt's perfectly kept garden path. "Are you hungry or can you wait?"

"I can wait," Harry said shrugging.

"Excellent." He sighed loudly. "I wasn't going to worry about it but I've got you now... I think we'll have to go to Gringotts before we do anything. I'm just about out of money and security's going to get tighter once they realise I've got you... How to get there...?"

"Get where?"

"London," Padfoot said with a grin that lit up his thin face. "More specifically, Diagon Alley."


	3. Chapter 3

"Die-where?"

"Diagon Alley," Padfoot laughed. "It's where Gringotts is."

"Gringotts?"

"The bank. Just wait up a moment." Padfoot stopped and pulled his stick out of his pocket. He started talking to himself in another language – one that sounded made up in Harry's opinion – and then tapped his arm.

"How did you do that?!" Harry asked, astonished. Padfoot was now blonde with blue eyes and a rounder face than he had had before.

"Hold still," Padfoot said, tapping Harry's head.

"What do I look like?" Harry asked excitedly. Padfoot waved his stick again and a mirror appeared. Harry took it, surveying his new face. His hair was as messy as ever, but it was a light brown colour and his eyes were blue instead of green. "How did you do that?" Harry asked again.

"Magic," Padfoot said, twirling his stick.

"Magic's not real," Harry said automatically. _But how else could he have done all those things?_ a little voice in his head argued.

"Why not?" Padfoot asked reasonably.

"Just... because," Harry finished lamely.

"It's real," Padfoot promised.

Harry watched him, not quite convinced. "Can you show me more?"

Padfoot thought for a moment, had a quick look around and then waved his stick. " _Wingardium Leviosa._ " Harry felt the ground vanish beneath his feet. He looked down and noticed, with a quiet shout of surprise, that he was floating. He was well above Padfoot's head and when he kicked his feet all they touched was air. "Believe me yet?" Padfoot asked, grinning. Harry nodded, not sure he trusted himself to speak, and felt himself slowly being lowered to the ground. "Good, because I might have had to leave you there otherwise."

Harry laughed shakily. "So you're a..."

"A what?"

"...wizard?" Harry said quietly.

"I am."

"And is that a wand?" He stared at the wooden stick with newfound respect.

"It is."

"Can I try?" he blurted.

"With my wand?" Padfoot thought for a moment and then shrugged. "Sure."

Harry accepted it gingerly, half expecting it to bite him. "What do I do?"

"Try... say ' _Lumos'_."

" _Lumos_ ," Harry said. There was a tiny white light at the tip of Padfoot's wand, so small he could hardly see it. "Is that what it's supposed to do?"

"Usually it's bigger," Padfoot said, shrugging, "but my wand's always been unpredictable for other people."

" _Lumos_ ," Harry said again, giving it a wave. The wand tip lit up until it was almost blinding.

"' _Nox_ '!" Padfoot said, shielding his eyes.

" _Nox!_ " Harry said quickly. The wand extinguished, as did all the streetlights within thirty feet of them. Harry pressed the wand back into Padfoot's hand.

"You're going to be one hell of a wizard," Padfoot said shaking his head.

"I'm not a wizard," Harry said. Padfoot's lips twitched, as if he knew something Harry didn't. "I can't be!"

"Really? You've never made anything strange happen before, done something you couldn't explain later?"

Harry's eyes widened. " _That's_ magic?"

Padfoot grinned. "Probably. You can tell me all about it on the way to London. Stand back."

"How _are_ we getting to London?" Harry asked as Padfoot stuck out his wand. "Do you have a magic car?"

With a loud bang, a purple, triple-decker bus materialised. Harry stared at it with wide eyes. "Not quite," Padfoot said casually. "Two please," he said, passing a giant gold coin and four silver ones to the squat, neatly shaven man who'd just emerged from the bus.

"But-" Harry stammered, staring at the bus that had appeared from nowhere. "But-"

"Later," Padfoot promised.

"Thank you, sir," the man wheezed, pocketing Padfoot's strange money. "Welcome to the Knight Bus. I'm Jeremy Phillips and I'll be your conductor this evening. Where is it you gentlemen are headed?"

"London. The Leaky Cauldron," Padfoot said. "Come on, kid." Harry stumbled onto the bus after his godfather, unable to help but smile a little. While the Dursleys had called him 'boy' to avoid saying his name, Padfoot addressing him as 'kid' was done with the same inflection as 'Harry' and wasn't malicious at all. It was nice, Harry thought, to be addressed like a human being.

"Have you got any luggage?"

"Just this," Padfoot said, shrugging a shoulder to show Harry's rucksack.

"Any preference about seating?"

"We won't be sleeping... somewhere we can talk without interrupting other passengers would be brilliant."

"Follow me," Jeremy said as the bus jerked. Harry would have fallen over if Padfoot hadn't caught him. They were led up a wobbly staircase to the top storey of the bus, which had four poster beds fixed to the floor. "Take your pick," Jeremy said. "I'll be downstairs if you need me, but otherwise, enjoy your trip and I'll let you know when we arrive at the Leaky Cauldron."

"Thank you," Padfoot said, flopping onto the closest bed. Harry sat down on the one beside it. Jeremy descended the staircase with a little wave as the bus jerked again. It took off quickly, weaving through traffic that Harry was certain hadn't been on Privet Drive.

"Is this safe?" he asked, his hands fisted into the bedspread.

"It helps if you don't look out the windows," Padfoot said. Harry – who had just yelped as the bus missed a pair of runners – was inclined to agree. "So, tell me about any magic you've used." Padfoot was sitting up now, watching Harry with an expression of interest.

"Er... Okay, well," Harry said, "last week I think I turned my teacher's wig blue..."

Harry wasn't sure how long they were actually aboard the bus for, but the time passed quickly; Harry told Padfoot about Mrs Peterson and since Padfoot seemed genuinely interested, he also told him about the time he'd ended up on the kitchen roof. "Do you remember how you got up there?" Padfoot asked once he'd stopped laughing.

Harry shook his head. "I thought it was the wind."

"I reckon you Apparated," Padfoot said thoughtfully. Harry made a face at the new word but didn't comment. He stored it away in the 'ask later' compartment of his head. "If you'd levitated yourself, you would have realised what was happening- aargh!" He flew off the bed and onto the floor with a thump as the bus stopped suddenly. Harry only avoided the same fate by grabbing hold of the bedpost.

"Leaky Cauldron, London!" Jeremy shouted up the stairs.

"That's us," Padfoot said gingerly, pushing himself off the ground. Harry kept his expression carefully blank, not wanting to laugh. Padfoot noticed. "Oh, go on," he said with a grin. "It must have looked stupid."

"No, it... well, yeah," Harry admitted, trying and failing to choke back a laugh as he scooped his rucksack up.

"Thought so," Padfoot said with a grin as he led Harry down the narrow spiral staircase.

"Thanks," Harry said to Jeremy as they hopped of the bus and into the chilly February night.

"Have a good night." The Knight Bus vanished with a bang that made Harry jump backward.

"This way," Padfoot said, his mouth twitching.

"Just laugh," Harry said, falling into step beside him. "You let me, before."

But Padfoot didn't. Instead, he smiled. "You're so much like Lily."

Harry beamed. _I'm like my mum..._ he thought happily. _I look like Dad, but with Mum's eyes and personality..._ It was strange to be so excited about being compared to people that - before tonight - he'd known nothing about. People were always telling Dudley he was like Uncle Vernon, and while Harry had always laughed – he'd hate to be compared with his Uncle – he'd always been a touch jealous too, that Dudley was like one of his parents.

"Where are you going, Harry?" Padfoot asked. Harry spun and saw his godfather standing ten paces back, struggling to keep a straight face.

"To Dragon Alley?"

"Diagon," Padfoot said, definitely laughing now. "Come here." Harry walked back and gave his godfather a sheepish smile before he was steered through the door of a dingy looking pub. Inside smelled vaguely of smoke, and since it was almost dinner time, was full of noisy patrons. "Welcome to the Leaky Cauldron," Padfoot muttered, keeping a hand on Harry's shoulder as they made their way through the masses of people.

"What is _that?!_ " Harry whispered, staring at a short creature with a long nose, pointed ears and sharp, black eyes.

"A goblin," Padfoot muttered. "Don't stare, don't stare, they don't like- Nope, he's seen us." The goblin smiled to reveal pointed, white teeth and waved one long fingered hand in their direction. Padfoot waved back, shuddering. "They're scary and they know it," he told Harry as they wove through the crowd. "Very professional though, goblins," he said. "And lucky for us, too."

"What do you mean?"

Padfoot thought for a minute. "The less you know, Harry," he said quietly, "the safer you are. At least for now," he added when Harry's expression darkened. "I've got a _lot_ to explain to you, but now isn't the time. Excuse me," he said gruffly. A woman muttered something and stepped aside. Padfoot guided Harry into a small, walled courtyard, empty save for a rubbish bin and a haughty-looking cat. Harry cast a dubious look around as Padfoot stepped forward. "I can never remember the combination," he grumbled, prodding the wall with his wand.

"Combination?"

"You need it to get into Diagon Alley. Three up... one across or two...?" Padfoot muttered. He was quiet for a moment and then, "Oh, yes. Got it. Stand back, Harry." He lifted his wand and then stopped. He turned back to Harry with a speculative look on his face. "Once we're in Diagon Alley, I need you to stay close, all right?" Harry nodded. "Keep calling me Padfoot, if you have to introduce yourself, don't mention your last name – I'll explain later," he said with a grimace. "And, no matter what happens, do _not_ let anyone see your scar." Harry's hand moved up to trace the familiar shape on his forehead. "Other than that, we should be fine; hopefully, no one knows I've got you yet and we can be gone before they're any the wiser."

"And then you'll explain everything?"

"Marauder's honour," Padfoot said with a wink.

Harry's eyes narrowed. "Let me guess: later?"

"Bright kid," Padfoot remarked to no one in particular as he tapped his wand on the courtyard wall. With a rumble, a brick started to shake and wriggled out of place, leaving a hole. Even as Harry watched the hole grew, and more bricks moved until he and Padfoot were standing in a huge archway. The pub was still behind him – he could still smell the pipe smoke and hear the chatter – but on the other side of the archway he could see a cobbled street winding every which way. "Welcome to Diagon Alley," Padfoot said as they stepped through.

Harry didn't know where to look first; despite the time, there were still quite a few people massing outside shops and crowding around stalls. All of them were wearing dresses like Padfoot's, and quite a few had pointy hats. Aside from that, they didn't look all that different from any other person Harry had ever seen. They certainly didn't all have long beards or warty noses, though Harry did see one austere looking woman with a bright red handbag who was clutching a toad. Behind Harry, Padfoot sighed. "It's nice to be back," he murmured. "This way."

Harry followed a little reluctantly, keen to have a look around. He stayed close to his godfather – it would be all too easy to get lost in this – but his eyes wandered where his feet couldn't; he saw a spindly old man selling cauldrons, a pretty young witch selling protective amulets and a red-haired boy a bit older than Harry was on what appeared to be a broomstick, being chased by his mother and another boy who looked exactly the same, who was laughing as he apologised to the people the boy on the broom had knocked over. After them came two other redheaded children – a boy - who looked about Harry's age and a girl who was a bit younger, who knocked into Padfoot with a squeak. "Sorry," said the boy as he and his sister ran past them.

"Not a problem," Padfoot said, his eyes fixed on the boy on the broomstick.

"Is he _flying?_ " Harry asked, staring after the family; the mother had caught up and was shouting at her son.

Padfoot nodded and smiled a little wistfully. "That's something James and I would have done," he said staring at the sulky looking twin. "Except it would have been Moony chasing us, not James' mum."

"Moony?"

"One of your dad's old friends," Padfoot said, starting to walk again. Harry didn't. "He's- Harry?" Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Padfoot turn and walk back toward him. He was saying something Harry didn't hear; Harry was too busy looking at the stall selling newspapers. On the front page of every one was a picture of Padfoot – with dark hair like he had had when Harry'd first met him - below the headline ' _HAVE YOU SEEN THIS WIZARD_?'. Harry didn't know whether to be more stunned by that, or by the fact that the picture was moving, like a miniature, soundless television.

"Is that you?" Harry said through numb lips when Padfoot was close enough to hear him.

"Yes. Harry-"

"What did you _do_?" Harry asked, wondering what he could have possibly done to end up on the front page of the newspaper.

"I'm innocent, remember," Padfoot said. Harry nodded automatically. "I... It's a long story," he said with a grimace, pushing his hair out of his face. Padfoot took a deep breath, looking pained. "I'll tell you now if you want me to – I don't like having to put this off any more than you do – but it'll make much more sense if you let me explain a few other things first, and I'd rather not do that here, for your sake."

Harry nodded slowly. "All right."

Padfoot sighed, and the stiff set of his shoulders relaxed. "Thanks, kiddo," he said, his voice as sincere as the hand now resting on Harry's shoulder.

"Are we going to the bank?"

Padfoot nodded. "And the sooner we're done there, the sooner we can get home."

"Which way do we go?" Harry asked.

"This way." They'd only gone another hundred paces before Harry saw the bank and wondered how he'd missed it. Gringotts – as the large golden letters above the door proclaimed – was a huge building made of snowy-white marble. Standing either side of the burnished bronze doors, wearing scarlet and gold uniforms, were goblins. Harry didn't stare this time, but his eyes did widen when they bowed them through the doors. Inside, they were faced with another pair of doors, glossy silver this time. Engraved upon them was a message which Harry paused to read:

 _Enter, stranger, but take heed,_

 _Of what awaits the sin of greed,_

 _For those who take but do not earn,_

 _Must pay most dearly in their turn._

 _So if you seek beneath our floors,_

 _A treasure that was never yours,_

 _Thief, you have been warned, beware,_

 _Of finding more than treasure there._

"What does it mean 'more than treasure'?" Harry whispered as another pair of goblins bowed them through the silver doors. Inside, a counter ran all the way around - separated only by golden doors that no doubt led to vaults – behind which sat more goblins.

"Gringotts vaults are protected by all sorts of things," Padfoot whispered back as they crossed the vast marble hall to get to a free counter; most of the other goblins were weighing gemstones or coins or writing in thick ledgers. "All sorts of hexes and wards... I think they've even got a dragon or two."

"A dragon?" Harry exclaimed and then clapped his hands to his mouth as the shout echoed. Several of the goblins looked up, their black eyes glinting. "Sorry," Harry said in what was hardly more than a whisper, yet carried to the corners of the hall. Padfoot smiled at him and together they approached a goblin.

"Excuse me," Padfoot said politely.

The goblin didn't acknowledge them; he continued writing in his book for a further minute before he finally looked up. "Yes?"

"I've come to make a withdrawal," Padfoot said.

"From which vault?" the goblin asked, showing his pointed teeth.

"My family vault," Padfoot said carefully. "The Black vault."

"Mr Black," the goblin said, looking interested. "Yes, I do see it now, even if it has been years since you were last here. I suppose you don't have access to your private vault key anymore." Padfoot stayed quiet and Harry followed his example. The goblin smiled nastily. "I'm a little surprised you've come at all... surely you know there's a reward for your capture?"

"I'm not here to make trouble," Padfoot said in a quiet but firm tone. "I came to get my gold and leave." The goblin said nothing. Padfoot frowned. "I wouldn't have come at all if I'd realised how much things had changed."

"Changed how?" the goblin asked, twining his long fingers together.

"I never thought I'd meet a goblin more interested in wizarding affairs than in the satisfaction of an old client," Padfoot said coolly. The goblin at the counter next to theirs made an angry noise and dropped the rubies he was holding. They scattered all over the counter and spilled onto the floor but the goblin was too busy listening to pick them up.

"Wizarding affairs are profitable these days," their goblin said with a cruel smile.

"So is helping me," Padfoot said.

"Is that a bribe, Mr Black?" the goblin asked, showing his pointed teeth again.

"If you want to be blunt. I'd call it a reward for a professional approach to a delicate situation."

The goblin smiled. "How large is this... reward?"

"It would depend on how professional you are."

"We can be very professional," the goblin promised, tracing patterns onto the pages of his ledger with one long nail.

"In that case, I'll have to insist on a permanent interest rate rise for the Black vault of say... five percent?"

The goblin's eyes widened but he quickly smoothed his expression. "Seven," he said shrewdly.

"Five," Padfoot said firmly, "as well as five percent of what I'm withdrawing today. I promise you it's a substantial amount."

"Very well." The goblin stared at him a moment longer, and then his eyes flicked down to Harry. "Follow me." The goblin hopped down from his chair and joined them at the front of the counter. On the ground, they were about the same height, though the goblin's head was almost twice as large as Harry's and his legs were only half the length.

Another goblin appeared beside them holding a bag of metal-sounding objects. "Here, Gurbock," he said passing it over.

Their goblin – Gurbock – nodded his thanks and the other goblin dashed off again. "That reminds me, I'll need bags," Padfoot said as the three of them crossed the hall.

"It'll cost you," Gurbock said, smiling in a way that made Harry shiver.

Padfoot thought for a moment, not really seeming surprised. "I'll give you a galleon for as many bags as I need," he said eventually.

"Two."

"All right," Padfoot said, winking at Harry who smiled after a moment's hesitation; he wasn't sure that he liked goblins. The goblin led them through a golden door and Harry, who had been expecting marble or something equally expensive was surprised to find they were in a narrow stone passageway, lit only by torches on the walls. Gurbock whistled and a cart came hurtling around a corner, attached to the little railway tracks Harry had just noticed on the floor. "In you get," Padfoot said, ushering Harry into the cart. Padfoot clambered in next and then the goblin and then, with no visible prompting, they were off.

Gurbock didn't steer at all – something which unnerved Harry – yet the cart navigated its way through a maze of passages. Several times, the cart dropped suddenly, or veered off sharply to one side and Harry, convinced he was about to fall out, had latched on to his godfather. Padfoot, thankfully didn't seem to mind; if he'd done the same to Aunt Petunia or Uncle Vernon, they probably would have saved the cart the trouble and just pushed him off. "Will we see a dragon?" Harry asked as they sped through the darkness.

"That's what clinkers are for," Padfoot answered, waving a hand at the bag in Gurbock's fist. "The older the vault, the more protection it has."

"Is yours old?"

"One of the oldest, I'd imagine," Padfoot said rather dryly, "except for goblin owned vaults."

"Quite right, Mr Black," Gurbock said approvingly as he adjusted the bag of clinkers in his lap.

After one particularly steep dip in the track that made Harry glad he hadn't eaten yet, the cart slowed to a stop beside a torch-lit platform. They climbed out, Harry a little unsteadily, and then something cold was pressed into his hand. "Shake it," Padfoot murmured, giving him a gentle nudge. Harry did, and so did Padfoot and Gurbock and soon the little platform was echoing with a high pitched metallic ring.

"Follow me," Gurbock called, leading them down a narrow passageway Harry hadn't noticed. They passageway wasn't lit at all, though they did pass an adjoining passage which was glowing in orange light. Harry walked into the back of the goblin a few times – unable to see - before they finally came out into a circular room. Torches flared into life on the walls. There was only one door, a large, round, bronze one with _Black_ carved into it.

Gurbock walked right up to it and pressed his hand against it. With a grinding sound, the entire room spun; the vault door was now covering the entrance to the passage they'd entered through, while the vault itself was now open. Harry's mouth fell open. In one corner was a collection of expensive looking heirlooms – armour, a set of bloodstained daggers, a chest overflowing with jewellery, and leather bags the size of Harry's rucksack, all filled with rubies and diamonds and sapphires. The rest of the room – which was about as big as Number Four, Privet Drive, was filled with piles of gold, silver and bronze coins, stacked as tall as Padfoot. Right at the back of the vault was another bronze door, open only wide enough for Harry to be able to see the glint of more treasure through it.

"I'll be needing those bags, Gurbock," Padfoot said sounding a little dazed. Gurbock dug around in the pockets of his scarlet jacket and produced three leather bags, each the size of the bag he'd kept the clinkers in. "Extension charms?" Padfoot asked, accepting them.

"Each will hold around two-thousand galleons," Gurbock said. "You did say a large withdrawal, did you not?"

"Yeah," Padfoot said faintly, accepting one of the bags. "What's the conversion rate into muggle money at the moment?"

"Approximately five pounds to a galleon," the goblin said.

Harry's eyes widened and then widened again when Padfoot tossed him a bag and told him to fill it with the gold coins. Harry stared at his godfather, who stepped forward – stumbled on an emerald that was the size of his head - and scooped a whole handful of coins into his bag. After a moment, Harry followed suit, but threw in some of the silver and bronze coins too. It took them almost ten minutes to fill all three bags yet they'd hardly made a dent in the piles of treasure. Gurbock shuffled to the door, pressed his palm against it and it slid back into place, sealing Padfoot's vault.

"How much room do you have in your rucksack?" Padfoot asked.

"Dunno. A bit," Harry said.

"Do you mind if we put this-" Padfoot hefted the bags of gold, "-in there?" Harry shook his head. Padfoot opened one of the bags he was holding and took out three of the gold coins which he passed to Harry - who accepted them gingerly, aware he'd never had so much money in his life - and pocketed another three for himself. "That should be enough to see us home," he said, retying the bag. "Hold still," he said, opening the top of Harry's rucksack. Harry felt him drop the bags of coins in; not only did he hear the jingle of coins but his rucksack also tripled in weight.

"Clankers," Gurbock said importantly, dealing them out again. Harry shook his. A roar echoed through the tunnels, much closer than Harry would have liked.

"Is that a dragon?" he whispered, moving closer to his godfather. Padfoot nodded, not seeming worried at all. The three of them set off down the cramped passageway again, and when they passed the glowing tunnel, Harry swore he saw a spiny tail disappearing around a corner at the far end. Gurbock led them back to the cart and a quick ride later, they were getting out again, blinking in the torch-light.

"Here, let me," Padfoot said, shouldering Harry's rucksack as they walked up the sloped path toward the golden doors.

"Thanks," Harry said, brushing his sweaty fringe out of his face.

"Well, well," the goblin said, looking from Padfoot to Harry. He took a step closer, lifting one long nailed finger to brush a strand of Harry's hair off of his forehead. Padfoot froze. "This _is_ an unexpected turn of events."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Padfoot said stiffly.

"Oh, I'm quite sure you do." Gurbock gave Padfoot a feral smile which he then turned on Harry. "Even among goblins your story is legendary, Harry Potter."

 _He knows me... I don't even look like me!_ Harry stared. "How...?" he said, looking at the goblin, who was still smiling.

Padfoot had gone white, but even as Harry watched he regained colour and drew himself up to his full height. "Would you like his autograph now or the next time we visit?" Padfoot said coldly. Gurbock looked a little insulted. "Or, would you like to skip that part altogether and do your job?"

Gurbock watched them both curiously for a very long time. "This way, Mr Black," the goblin said at last, his black eyes glittering in the light of the marble hall. Padfoot looked relieved, and the instant Gurbock turned around, he gestured for Harry to flatten his fringe.

"I'd like one bag converted into muggle money," Padfoot said, his voice still cold. "And you can take your five percent from that."

Gurbock accepted the offered bag and disappeared behind the counter with it. Padfoot seemed on edge the entire time they waited and sighed in relief when the goblin returned and passed over a stack of twenty pound notes. Padfoot tucked those into a pocket in his dress. "Do you not want your key, Mr Potter?" Gurbock asked, as they turned away from the counter.

"My what?" Harry asked, frowning at the goblin.

"I think he means the key to your Gringotts vault," Padfoot said.

"I-I have a vault?"

"James and Lily wouldn't have left you with nothing," Padfoot said, shaking his head as if Harry were mad.

"You are entitled to the small fortune in vault six-hundred and eighty-seven," Gurbock said. "The contents of the Potter family vault will become available to you when you come of age."

"Er..." Harry said, looking at Padfoot, who shrugged, "I guess I'll take my key now, then, if I'm allowed to?"

"Identification won't be necessary," Gurbock said, eyeing Harry's scar. "Wait here, please." He returned a moment later carrying a small golden key. "When you wish to access your vault, present this to the goblin at the counter." Harry nodded and pocketed it. "Have a good evening," Gurbock said, with another curious look at Harry.

Padfoot nodded stiffly. "Thank you," Harry said. As they left, Harry got the impression that Padfoot was walking as fast as was possible without running; Harry was almost jogging to keep up. Outside, Diagon Alley was now almost empty and rather dark and this seemed to make Padfoot jumpy; he kept staring at shadows, constantly checking to make sure Harry was nearby and his knuckles were white around his wand.

"How did he know who I was?" Harry asked as they headed back toward the pub they'd come in through.

Padfoot glanced around and then leaned closer. "Your scar," Padfoot said, very quietly.

"My scar?" Harry whispered, trying to decide which of his thousand questions to ask first.

Padfoot nodded. "I know how frustrating this must be," he said with a grimace. "If we'd had more time, I would have explained everything to you before we came, but it won't take Dumbledore long to realise I've got you and then he'll come looking..."

"Who's Dumbledore?"

"Headmaster of Hogwarts," Padfoot said, starting to walk again. "A good friend of mine, and of your mum and dad. He's also the last person we want to see right now."

"Why?"

"He doesn't know I'm innocent. You'd be back with your Aunt and Uncle and I'd be back in my cell before either of us knew what was going on."

"And he knows you've got me?"

"If he doesn't already, he will soon," Padfoot said grimly.


	4. Chapter 4

Padfoot and Harry stood before a door covered in peeling black paint. At least Harry assumed it was a door; there was a silver snake knocker and a doorbell alongside but no doorhandle. Padfoot tapped it with his wand and it swung open. "This is home," Padfoot said grimly.

 _Home_ , Harry thought, smiling as he stepped inside - the floorboards under the carpet squeaked - and cast a glance around. It was very dark; he couldn't see anything outside Padfoot's circle of wandlight. The place stank like old newspapers, mould and dust and every step that either Harry or Padfoot took made the floor creak horribly. _I still like it here better than I did at the Dursleys,_ he thought, squinting at a lumpy-looking umbrella stand.

Portraits covered peeling wallpaper and their eyes seemed to follow Harry and Padfoot. It sounded as though they were whispering, but Harry was fairly sure it was actually his trainers in the dust. They passed a set of double doors on the left, which had tarnished, silver serpent handles, and a door on the right with a matching one.

"Kreacher must have died," Padfoot whispered cheerfully, as he looked at the footsteps they were leaving.

"Kreacher?" Harry asked.

"My mum's old house elf." They both jumped as the stairs creaked. "This place is a mess," he breathed, looking around.

"When were you last here?" Harry whispered, thinking it was hardly surprising that Aunt Petunia cleaned so regularly if houses could end up like this.

Padfoot thought for a moment. "I was sixteen, I reckon." He ran a hand over his face. "I never thought I'd be back."

"Why not?"

"I hated it here," he said with a little laugh. "Are you opposed to sleeping downstairs tonight? I don't know what state the bedrooms are in and-"

"Down here's fine," Harry whispered.

"The kitchen's probably the best place," Padfoot murmured, leading Harry to the end of the hall. "Watch your step."

They descended a narrow, creaky staircase which led into a cavernous kitchen. There was an enormous table in the middle of the room, and chairs. As they entered, something small and grey scurried across the floor and hid under a chair. Padfoot flicked his wand at it and there was a high pitched squeal and a puff of dust.

"What was that?" Harry asked.

"Dust bunny," Padfoot said. "The house is probably infested."

"Are they dangerous?"

"Not unless you're carpet." Padfoot jabbed his wand in the direction of movement on the far side of the kitchen and there was another faint squeal. Padfoot had another quick look around and strode over to a small cabinet that rested against the wall by the stairs. "Can you hold my wand, please?" Harry held it like a torch so that Padfoot could see; he shifted a few things in the cabinet and then pulled out an old newspaper and a long piece of wood. "Over here." Harry followed his godfather to a big fireplace.

"Do you have matches?" Harry asked, watching him scrunch the newspaper up.

"I have a wand," Padfoot said, gesturing for it. Harry passed it over immediately, eager to see more magic. A moment later, a warm fire was crackling in the grate. Padfoot used his wand to clear the floor by the fireplace and then, to Harry's amazement, conjured a pair of bright red sleeping bags. "Do you want anything?" Padfoot asked as Harry kicked off his shoes and slid into his sleeping bag. "Food or a drink?"

"No, thanks." They'd had sandwiches and hot chocolate on the Knight Bus on the way back. "Padfoot?" Harry asked tentatively.

"Yeah, kiddo?"

"I was... Is... is it later yet?"

Padfoot stared at the dancing flames. "I suppose so," he said grimly, picking a thread out of his sleeping bag. Harry sat straighter, eyes fixed on his godfather. "Everything starts at Hogwarts, really, where students go to learn magic. I got my letter at eleven, like all magical kids and so did your mum and dad, Remus Lupin and Peter Pettigrew." His hands tightened into fists at the mention of the last name. "I met your mum and dad and Remus on the train and Peter after Sorting – we were all Sorted into the same House. We – the boys – became friends and called ourselves the Marauders.

"While we were going through school, a wizard named Voldemort started gaining power. He was evil and had decided to cleanse the world of anyone he didn't think was magical enough. At first it was just whispers. Propaganda about muggleborns and a stories that a group called the Death Eaters that was recruiting. One of my old teachers was one. Git." He sighed. "Things started to get particularly bad toward the end of my sixth year; people were going missing, Voldemort was recruiting students and killing muggles for the fun of it... It was a mess."

"Muggles?" Harry asked with a shiver, pulling the hood of his sleeping bag up a little higher.

"Non-magical folk, like your Aunt and Uncle. Anyway, Dumbledore, the man we were talking about in Diagon Alley, formed an organisation, The Order of the Phoenix, to fight back. I joined in my seventh year and so did your mum and dad, Remus and Peter.

"Your mum and dad got married, Lily trained to be a Healer, James and I went through the Auror Training Program – Aurors are Dark Wizard Catchers, like the Muggle equivalent of policemen, I suppose - and in our spare time, we fought against Voldemort. About a month before you were born, Dumbledore was in a job interview when a Seer made a prophecy... about you."

"Me?" Harry asked. "What did it say?"

"Ask me again in a year or two," Padfoot said evasively. "One of Voldemort's spies heard the prophecy, or part of it, and Voldemort set out to find you."

"He wanted me?"

"Your mum and dad went into hiding in August, trying to keep you safe. We – me, Moony and Peter – visited almost daily or James just about went mad, being cooped up all the time. You were safe enough – you lived at Hogwarts for most of the time but your mum got sick of it. Said she wanted to find somewhere they could live safely, without people coming and going all the time. Dumbledore, Moony and I found a house in Godric's Hollow, a little cottage and they moved in just before you turned one. None of us were allowed to visit for a while because we didn't want to draw attention to the place, but eventually things went back to normal and we visited all the time.

"There was a constant guard of Order members living in the house - me and Moony, mostly, but others too - to keep it safe. Dumbledore worried one of them might say something, though, or they'd be tortured into saying something; we knew there was a spy in our ranks, although no one wanted to suspect anyone else, and it was only a matter of time before word got out about where Lily and James were. Late in October, Dumbledore suggested they put the place under the Fidelius Charm."

"The what?"

"It's a spell that hides a secret inside a living soul. I was going to be the Secret Keeper, the one who would know where they were. I was planning to go into hiding too, but what got me was that I was such an obvious choice. I knew the second Voldemort heard about the charm, he'd come after me and I also knew, that if he tortured me, I might tell him where they were." He laughed once, without humour. "I decided to be clever," he spat. "I convinced Lily and James to change Secret Keepers at the last minute, to Peter. He was weak, the last person Voldemort would ever think to come after. He agreed to it and we cast the spell. The plan was that Voldemort would still come after me, but if he caught me, I wouldn't be able to tell him where you were.

"The night after we cast the spell, Peter ran off to Voldemort and told him where to find Lily and James. I was staying at Remus' that night - he was... sick - and I had a feeling. I went to check up on Peter and found his house empty, with no signs of a struggle. I arrived at your place a moment later and found it ruined. James," Padfoot choked, "was- dead- in the hallway- Lily- you were sitting in your crib- staring at your mum and-" Padfoot drew in a shuddering breath and then his face closed over and he took several slow deep breaths, his eyes not quite there. "Hagrid took you from me," Padfoot said finally, sounding a little too calm. "He had orders from Dumbledore to take you to your Aunt. The second he left, I went after Peter. I hunted for two days until I finally tracked him down."

"What happened?" Harry asked; Padfoot had started to tremble.

"He shouted that I was the one to betray your mum and dad, that I was the one who handed them to Voldemort and when I lifted my wand to curse him into the ground, he blew the street up. He killed thirteen muggles – I only survived because I got a Shield Charm up in time – and amidst all the chaos, he transformed into a rat and disappeared into the sewers. Hit Wizards arrived within minutes and found me on my knees, laughing at the hole in the ground."

"And they took you to prison?" Harry asked.

Padfoot shuddered. "Yes."

"What happened to Voldemort? You never said..."

"He vanished. I don't know what you did but you stopped him. People say he died, but I don't think that's right-"

"So he'll come back?"

"One day, I think," Padfoot said, staring into the dying fire.

Harry digested this in silence. "And Peter? Will he come back too?"

"Not if he's smart," Padfoot growled, his eyes glinting dangerously.

"Why did he become a rat?" Harry asked.

"He's what wizards call an Animagus. It means he can turn into an animal at will."

"Yes, but why did he choose to be a rat?"

"He didn't. It's all based on personality. How we didn't see it, I'll never understand," Padfoot muttered and Harry got the impression he wasn't talking to him.

"Are you an Animagus too?" Harry asked through a yawn.

"I am," Padfoot said with a small smile.

Harry perked up. "Really? What animal?"

"I'll show you." Harry fixed his godfather with an expectant look. As Padfoot smiled, his teeth grew, his ears stretched taller, black fur grew over his face, his fingers retracted into his hands and then-

"Brilliant," he said, staring at his godfather. Padfoot barked and bounded forward, tail wagging, to lick Harry's face. Harry laughed and patted his head. Padfoot changed back. "You're you again!" Harry exclaimed.

"Who else would I be?" Padfoot asked.

"I mean your hair," Harry said. "And your eyes. You look like you did at the playground, not like you did at Diagon Alley."

"Side effect of transformation," Padfoot said, shrugging. "It destroys all the charms I cast earlier because I have to go back to looking like me." That didn't make much sense to Harry at all but he was too tired to think about it in any detail. He yawned, fighting to keep his eyes open. Padfoot climbed back into his own sleeping bag. "Do you like to explore?" Padfoot asked as they both lay there, watching the fire.

Harry shrugged, his eyes slipping shut. He'd always been good at finding hiding places at school and at Number Four, mainly so he'd have somewhere to go when Dudley went 'Harry Hunting'. "Why?" he asked sleepily.

"We'll explore the house tomorrow," Padfoot said. "I haven't been here for ten years so I don't know how much has changed and then we'll need to start cleaning to make this place liveable; we can't sleep in the kitchen every night." Padfoot started to say something else but sleep claimed Harry before he could finish.

-()()()()()-

Something poked Harry. He frowned without opening his eyes. _Aunt Petunia never comes into my cupboard_ , he thought, rolling over. Something poked him again. "All right, I'm up," he mumbled forcing his eyelids open. "Aargh!" Standing over him was a pale blob with big eyes and bigger ears. Harry crawled backwards, hands searching for his glasses.

"What is this in Mistress' house?" the thing asked in a voice like a bullfrog's croak.

 _It can talk!_ Harry thought, his fingers closing around his glasses. He jammed them onto his face and Padfoot's dusty kitchen came into focus, as did the creature in front of him. It was perhaps one of the ugliest things he'd ever seen. It was roughly human shaped – though only half the size - but with long arms and legs, a larger than natural head and a bulbous, snout-like nose. Folds of skin hung off its bony frame and it was naked, except for a grey loincloth. Harry glanced at Padfoot's empty sleeping bag, feeling his fear spike. He was used to being alone, but not in unfamiliar places. "W-who are you?"

"The brat wants to know Kreacher's name!" the thing said, looking revolted. "Kreacher doesn't talk to brats, oh no. Kreacher's poor Mistress would never forgive Kreacher." The thing turned its big, bloodshot eyes on Harry who scrambled to his feet and backed away.

Harry watched it carefully, positioning himself on the opposite side of the dusty table. He was fairly sure he could outrun it if he had to, but he'd never seen anything like it before which meant it was probably magical. "Padfoot!" he called, hoping his godfather was nearby.

"Is there another brat here? Kreacher didn't hear it, but little beasts can be silent..." The thing mumbled something Harry couldn't understand and then let loose a blood-curdling shriek: "Thieves!" it shouted. "Thieves in the House of Black!"

Harry edged toward the stairs. He heard a loud CRACK! and out of the corner of his eye saw the thing disappear. Harry turned and sprinted up the stairs. A small part of Harry's mind wondered if the creature in the kitchen had done anything to his godfather but he discarded that with a shiver. Padfoot was a wizard. He'd be safe. He skidded into the hallway, which was empty too and the layer of dust on the staircase leading to the first floor was undisturbed. "Padfoot?" Harry called.

"Who's there?" screeched a woman's voice. Harry jumped, barely managing to stifle a yell as the curtains on the wall in front of him flew open of their own accord. "Who dares disturb the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black? Name yourself!"

"H-Harry," Harry said, his eyes darting around to try to locate the source of the noise.

"What is your family name, _Harry?_ " she asked haughtily.

"My family-?"

"You father's name."

"James."

"James _what?_ "

"Potter. James Potter."

"Oh. Him."

"Er... yes?"

"Harry Potter, did you say?" the voice asked, sounding curious now. "The boy who defeated the Dark Lord?"

"Er... I guess so," Harry told the empty corridor.

"Come here, Harry Potter," she said imperiously. Harry walked toward the sound of the voice. "There's not much of you," she sniffed. "You're just a boy. What are you doing in my house?" Harry finally found the speaker. It was a portrait of an old woman with grey hair and cold black eyes. He blinked a few times, just to convince himself that the portrait was in fact speaking and to him. "How did you get in?" the woman asked, shifting in her chair. "I'll have to get Kreacher to update the security."

"Through the door," Harry said, not understanding the question.

"Liar!" she shrieked. Harry jumped and tripped. "Only a Black can open the door to the home of my fathers! How did you come here?!"

"Well, Padfoot's last name is Black-" Harry said from the floor.

The woman released a scream of pure rage. "Him! Oh, yes, it would be him! Blood-traitor! Abomination! Shame of my flesh!" Harry didn't dare move. "Kreacher!" she shouted. "Kreacher!" There was a loud CRACK! and then the thing from the kitchen appeared beside Harry, who could only stare.

"Kreacher is here, Mistress," the thing said, stroking the screaming portrait. "Mistress needn't worry-"

The front door swung open and then there was a quiet creaking noise. Padfoot was standing there, blond again, holding a paper bag. "What in Merlin's name is going on in here?" he asked.

"You!" the woman in the portrait screamed, her eyes popping. "You! How dare you show your traitorous face here! Shame of my blood! Ungrateful! Blood-traitor! Freak!"

Padfoot, who'd looked startled at the commotion in the hallway, dropped the bag he was holding and ran forward to wrench the curtain over the portrait. The screaming subsided as soon as the portrait was covered. "Master has returned," Kreacher croaked, grovelling at Padfoot's feet. "Master broke his mother's heart," he muttered. "Master doesn't belong here, oh no, and Kreacher doesn't want to serve nasty Master."

"That's enough, Kreacher," Padfoot snapped. "Go to your cupboard and stay there until I deal with you." The thing glared at Padfoot but vanished with another CRACK! Harry was staring at the place where the thing had vanished.

"What was that thing?" he asked.

"Kreacher," Padfoot said, looking irritated. "The portrait's of my mother- Oh, portraits!" Padfoot said, his eyes widening. "Kreacher!" Kreacher returned with another loud CRACK! and a dirty look.

"Master's grown even more fickle than Kreacher remembers. Do this, Master says, and then takes it back just after, oh, yes, such a temperamental little-"

"Shut up." Kreacher gave them both a withering look. "In one of the bedrooms upstairs, there's a portrait of Phineas Nigellus - he was Hogwarts Headmaster. I want you to burn it. Now. And any others paintings that could tell anyone we're here. Before they have a chance to tell anyone. I forbid you from telling them why. And I forbid you from saying anything about me or Harry while you do it. Understand?" The elf gave him a look of loathing and vanished again. Harry stared at his godfather. "Phineas Nigellus has a portrait in the Headmaster's office. My parents used to have him keep track of me. The last thing we need, though, is him telling Dumbledore where we are before we get proper security on this place."

"You mean all portraits can talk?"

"In the Wizarding World," Padfoot said. Harry blinked, trying to make sense of all this. "It isn't a problem as long as they can't leave the house. How about we head down to the kitchen?" Padfoot suggested. "I don't want to set Mum off again."

Harry nodded fervently, watching the portrait out of the corner of his eye. Padfoot grabbed the bag and the two headed down to the kitchen. "So what's Kreacher?" Harry asked as Padfoot restarted last night's fire.

"He's a house elf," Padfoot said, getting up. Behind him, the fire crackled cheerfully. "Nasty little sod – not all of them, just this one. I thought he'd died when I saw the state of this place. "I ducked out to get food – I thought you'd be hungry. Kreacher must have heard me leaving and come to investigate."

"What do house elves do?"

"Old wizarding families have them to cook and clean, some even look after kids." Padfoot glanced around the filthy kitchen with distaste. "I don't think Kreacher's done either for years. Do you like apples?" he asked, digging around in the bag. Harry nodded. "Are you sure? I bought oranges and pears too, just in case-"

"Apples are fine," Harry said, a little shocked; usually he just ate what he was given. He accepted it with a shy smile. "Thanks." He traced patterns on its shiny green skin with a dirty fingernail before looking up again. "Why was the portrait talking? Is it alive?"

"I'd say some of my mother's evil seeped into the walls while she was living here," Padfoot said, curling his lip. Harry stared around, half expecting Padfoot's mother's ghost to appear. "That aura stayed here when she died and someone's obviously embedded that into a painting to keep Kreacher happy."

"You really hate it here, do you?" Harry said quietly.

Padfoot sighed. "My mother was a hag I was never good enough for, and I loved my brother but we were very different people. Kreacher used to follow me around and tell me how much my mother hated me. My... father wasn't home much but when he was he was usually drunk..." Harry winced. He had seen Uncle Vernon drunk once and it wasn't something he'd forget any time soon. "It's hard not to see things as they were," Padfoot said, shrugging. "That fireplace, for example, was where I lost my first tooth because I slipped getting out of the Floo. My mother smacked me over the head for bleeding on the rug that used to be there and I spent the rest of the day in my room.

"The table," he continued with a wave of his hand, "was where my father beat me in front of all of my relatives for getting into Gryffindor instead of Slytherin..." Padfoot turned to stare at the cabinet that held the firewood and smiled slightly. "That cabinet," he said, grinning now, "is where I had to hide Remus and James because they arrived to surprise me for my birthday, and all my relatives showed up."

"My dad came here?"

"Several times?" Padfoot said, nodding.

Harry smiled. "How long did they have to hide?"

"Four and a half hours I think it was," Padfoot said, smirking. "It's a good thing they were both skinny or they'd never have fit. Right, no more talking until you finish your apple and I finish mine." Harry stared down at the untouched fruit in his hand, bemused. He'd forgotten it was there.

"What are we doing after we eat?" Harry asked.

"You ask a lot of questions," Padfoot said.

"Sorry," Harry said quickly.

"I never said it was a bad thing." Padfoot looked amused, Harry was relieved to see. "We're going exploring," he added and then frowned suddenly. "And I thought I said no talking." Harry grinned.

-()()()()()-

"Ah, Minerva! To what do I owe the pleasure?" Albus Dumbledore asked, tucking a half-finished declination for the position of Minister into his desk drawer; Millicent was planning to retire at the end of the year and wanted him to take her place. He looked up, the smile slipping off his face. "Is something wrong?" His usually stern Transfiguration Professor was looking rather flustered; her black hair was falling out of its immaculate bun and her robes were creased from extended wear.

"Harry Potter wasn't at Arabella Figg's today," she said briskly.

"I see," he said, his lips twitching. "Would you care for a lemon drop?"

She batted the bowl of sweets away. "He wasn't in the car when they left and he didn't come back with them either," she said, folding her arms.

"Are you upset that he was left behind," Dumbledore asked gently, "or that you didn't get to see him at Arabella's?"

She conjured a chair and sat down. "I checked the home," she admitted, a little defiantly. "He wasn't there. Albus, I've just got a feeling that something isn't right; if he wasn't there and he wasn't with his relatives..." Her eyes found the newspaper article on his desk, the one with Sirius Black's picture on it.

"Sirius could not have taken the boy," he said, seeing at last what had upset her. "The wards-"

"Are failing," she said. "I could barely feel them, even as a cat."

Albus' eyebrows rose. Animals had better senses than humans did and were exponentially better at detecting magical activity. "You're sure?" he asked, knowing even as he said it that Minerva would never come to him unless she was certain.

"Of course I am."

Albus sat quietly, letting the last few minutes sink in. He'd grown complacent after the War, and not needed to make overly authoritive decisions for a long time. Finally, his mind fought its way out of its detached stupor. He turned to Minerva. "I need you to get to Augusta Longbottom's house as soon as possible. Keep her and Neville safe until I arrive."

"And the others?"

"Safe for the moment, I think."

Minerva nodded stiffly. "What should I tell Augusta? She'll hardly be pleased when I show up on her doorstep."

"That I am searching for answers and will inform her when I find them. She may raise any problems with me when I arrive."

Minerva nodded stiffly and swept out of the office. Albus got to his feet and strode over to the fireplace. Reasons the wards could have failed bounced around in his head, and worry waltzed around his insides. _Surely Sirius couldn't have taken the boy... best to be certain, however..._ "The Hog's Head," he said firmly, stepping into the green flames.

"Albus?"

"Good evening, Aberforth," Albus said, running past his brother. "I know this is terribly rude of me, but manners must come second to time tonight."

"Wha-"

As soon as he was outside, Albus fixed an image of Petunia Dursley's house in his mind and Disapparated. He stumbled a little upon his arrival in the Dursley's driveway, but didn't allow that to stop him; he strode up the garden path and pressed the doorbell, all the while casting his mind out. The door swung open. "Whatever you're selling, we're not interested," said a large man with a bushy moustache and very little neck.

"Good evening, Vernon," Albus said politely.

The man's small eyes narrowed as he took in Albus' purple robes. "What do you want?"

"May I come in?"

"No."

"Vernon! Who's at the door?" Albus saw Petunia Dursley appear in the hallway behind her husband and pale at the sight of him. "You," she said.

"Me," Albus said smiling pleasantly. "Is Harry home?"

"What do you want with the boy?" she asked, pursing her lips.

"To speak with him," Albus said, noting that she'd gone a shade paler.

"You can't," she said.

"He isn't here," Vernon said gleefully.

"I beg your pardon?" Albus said calmly, adjusting his hat.

"He isn't here."

"Where else would he be?" Albus asked, fearing the answer.

"His godfather took him." A cold, sick feeling settled itself in Albus' stomach, making him rather glad he hadn't eaten.

"When?" he asked, his voice shaking.

"Last night," Petunia said. "I sent you a letter this morning," she added unwillingly. "To tell you he's gone and that we don't want anything more to do with him or you or any of your kind."

"I'll keep an eye on the post," Albus said. "And I'll make the effort not to bother you in the future, but for now, I'm already here and have a few questions to ask yet." Both Dursleys made disapproving noises. "Can you describe the man?"

"Tall, black hair," Vernon said.

"Filthy," was his wife's contribution.

Albus drew his wand, making both muggles hiss. "Is this him?" He waved his wand, causing a smoky image of Sirius Black to form in the space between them.

"That's him," Petunia said. "Thinner though."

"And you just let him take the boy?"

"He wanted him," Vernon said shrugging. "We didn't."

"He's his godfather," Aunt Petunia said. "He's legally entitled to the boy and the boy seemed happy to go with him." She paused, eyeing him critically and then glanced around to see that they weren't being watched. "Are you done here? I don't want the neighbours asking questions tomorrow."

Albus closed his eyes and took a deep breath. There was little point in asking if they'd been given Harry's new contact details. "Yes," he said. The door slammed shut in his face. He turned and walked away from the doorstep. Somehow, his wards had failed, or Sirius had found a way around them. And now he had Harry.

Albus set off down the street searching for any magical traces he could find. There were several overlapping sets of Appearance Alteration Charms, specifically, those taught in the Auror Training Program. _Sirius, what have you done...?_ A little further up Privet Drive he found marks left by a Hover Charm and a Light Spell, and beside them, the equivalent of magical tyre tracks. Without hesitation, Albus flung out his wand.

BANG. "Welcome to the Knight Bus. My name is Je- Professor Dumbledore?!"

"Good evening, Jeremy," Albus said, giving his past student a strained smile. "I am in need of assistance and think you might be able to help."

"Yeah, er... sure," he said looking a little startled. "We can take you anywhere-"

"London, please. To the Ministry," Albus said, pressing a galleon into his hand.

"Is the Floo Network down?" Albus chuckled. "I'm serious!" Jeremy said.

"No, I'm merely in the mood for an alternate form of transportation." Jeremy gave him a skeptical look. "Did you pick up a man and a boy here last night?" Albus asked as he settled himself on the end of a four-poster bed.

Jeremy frowned. "Yeah," he said thoughtfully. "Yeah, we did. How'd you know that?"

"A story for another day. Could you describe them, please?"

"Blond, both of them," Jeremy said, squinting. "Blue eyes too, I think. The man was... tall-ish – not quite as tall as you, but close - with a round face and the kid was scrawny with glasses."

"Indeed. And where did you take them?"

"Leaky Cauldron the first time," Jeremy said, steadying himself against Albus' four-poster as the bus took off. "Second time we got them from the Leaky Cauldron and took them to Kings Cross Station."

"Did they enter the station?"

"I don't think so, no," Jeremy said slowly. "They crossed to the other side of the road as soon as they were off."

 _But they could have doubled back... or they could have kept walking... You always were too clever for your own good, Sirius._ "Ha- Happy? The boy, was he happy?"

"Seemed like it. They were laughing when they got on and off, both times." Jeremy peered out the window. "We're here, sir."

"Thank you, Jeremy," Albus said, spying the peeling phone box. "Have a good evening."

"You too, Professor," Jeremy said, bemused, as Albus strode off the bus and into the night.

Ten minutes later, Minister Millicent Bagnold collapsed into her chair and fixed Albus with a stunned look. She was an older witch - though still young compared to Albus - with blond hair that was fading to white and very thin lips that were perpetually pursed. "The Ministry will do everything it can," she said in her brisk voice. "I'll send Aurors to Mrs Pettigrew's home immediately, and to Mrs Longbottom's later tonight." She wrote something down and then paused. "You're sure about the others?"

"Both are perfectly capable of protecting themselves, but I will present the offer when I visit." Millicent passed the note to a small owl that was perched by the window and it flew out of the office.

"Will you join the search yourself?"

"When I have the time," Albus said. He owed Harry that much, and Lily and James too; he knew it was Sirius' fault they'd died, but perhaps if he'd been a little more forceful in his offer to be their Secret-Keeper- He shook his head to clear it.

"I'll have the Department of Magical Records monitor the Deaths list," she said quietly. Albus closed his eyes. "And the Department of Management and Control of Magical Children will monitor Harry Potter's Trace. It might take some time to find, given they don't usually bother with the files of children under eleven but exceptions can and will be made... Is Black capable of installing wards that block the Trace?"

"Perhaps," Albus said tiredly, but hope was beginning to stir inside him. "He was a gifted student, though it would surprise me if he thought of it so quickly. He's already used magic around the boy."

"Then he's already slipped up. Let's hope he does so again and we can have Potter back to his family by morning. I'll be required to launch a proper investigation," Millicent said. Albus nodded. "And I can't do that without an explanation. What will the public story be?"

Albus sighed and ducked as an owl bearing a green envelope flew in. "The truth. That Harry Potter was kidnapped by Sirius Black. Jeremy Philips, the conductor of the Knight Bus saw them."

"They were on the Knight Bus? That's a bold move for Black."

"Hidden in plain sight," Albus said with a sigh. "He's always been clever."

"Reckless though."

"With any hope, that's what will catch him," Albus said. "He was a Gryffindor after all."

"Was he really? I'd have picked him for Slytherin."

"I'm afraid that side of him was buried so deep that even our Sorting Hat couldn't find it," Albus said sadly. He stood, tucking a loose strand of his beard into his belt. "I'm afraid you must excuse me, Millicent. There are others I need to talk to regarding the events of last night."

"Of course," she said, getting up to open the office door. "You'll be in contact, I take it?"

"Expect my owl in the morning. And if the Aurors find anything before then-"

"I'll let you know," she promised.


	5. Chapter 5

For all that Aunt Petunia had seemed to hate Padfoot's wand the day before, Harry thought she might have made good use of one herself; the quarter-of-an-inch thick dust that covered everything vanished with a flick of Padfoot's wrist, and a murmured spell was all that was needed to scrub the faded wallpaper clean and replaster it, or have the sponges polish the grimy windows all by themselves. It was odd - _very_ odd - to go from being oblivious to magic's existence one day, to living with someone who used it for even the most mundane tasks the next.

There were three bathrooms in Grimmauld Place and the only thing that worked was a single shower on the second floor. If either of them wanted to use the toilet, they had to go to the public bathroom in the small park across the road. Padfoot insisted on magical disguises - like the ones they'd used the night before - that changed with each trip, and also insisted they change clothes each time, which was easier said than done.

Harry only had a pair of faded, too-big jeans, a pair of baggy shorts and a few of Dudley's oversized shirts, and the only clothes Padfoot owned was the dirty dress - which wizards called robes - he'd worn the day before, and whatever he could find in the house; he'd received an odd look from a woman at the park for wearing his brother's embroidered waistcoat and pinstriped trousers and an odder look from the man who served them at the supermarket.

Kreacher had disapproved of Padfoot's attire too, but for completely different reasons. "The blood-traitor's trying to pretend he's a Black again," he muttered. "Oh, yes, Kreacher knows. Kreacher sees it. Oh, but if poor Mistress and Master Regulus were to see... Master Regulus would die of shame to see his fine clothes on Master's ungrateful back. They say he went to Azkaban for murder, oh, Kreacher doesn't doubt it, he always had a nasty temper, and to think Master Regulus' best waistcoat is being worn by cruel, murdering Master-"

"Oh, shut up," Padfoot snapped, tugging at the offending article. It was rather tight - it seemed Padfoot had broader shoulders than his brother - and Padfoot didn't seem to like wearing it much at all if his grimace was anything to judge by. " _Manere Frigus,_ " he muttered, tapping one of the cupboards inside the pantry. "Ah, finally."

"What'd you do?"

"Refrigeration Charm." Harry looked over with interest but it looked like a normal cupboard to him. Curious, he reached out and then pulled his hand away from the cold. "Could you pass the milk?" he asked Harry.

"Not even a please," Kreacher said in his croaky voice from the pantry doorway, watching the pair of them. "Not that the brat deserves it, but Mistress would still be so ashamed to see her blood talking like a wretched mudblood-"

"What's a mudblood?" Harry asked.

Padfoot dropped the milk. It landed on his foot and spilt everywhere, soaking his socks and the pin-striped trousers. Kreacher let out a shriek, snapped his fingers and the mess vanished. "Don't say that word," Padfoot said in a rather scary voice. "Not ever. Do you understand?" Harry nodded, feeling very small. "Get _off_ , Kreacher," Padfoot said irritably, kicking the elf away; Kreacher was lying at his feet, inspecting the damage done to the trousers. Padfoot sighed. "That word is... well... a rather nasty name for a witch or wizard born into a muggle family." Padfoot's face darkened. "Like your mum."

"What do you call them, then?"

"Muggleborns. Did you hear that, Kreacher? I forbid you from using the m-word - that particular m-word - ever again." Kreacher looked like he'd been forced to drink something particularly unpleasant. He skulked out of the pantry, muttering under his breath. "I really am sorry about him," Padfoot said, staring at the elf's back with dislike.

"Is he always like that?"

"Pretty much. He-" There was a croaky scream from upstairs, a loud thump and then Mrs Black's horrid portrait began to shriek. Padfoot looked a little afraid but he stood and slipped out of the pantry, his wand clutched in his hand. "Stay here," he told Harry in a quiet voice and crept up the stairs. There was another shrill yell and thump.

Harry waited a moment before he sneaked over to the stairs and peered up. He couldn't see anything but the wall at the top, so he risked the ascension. He couldn't see the main hallway - the dining room walls blocked it from view - and so when nothing immediately attacked, he ventured out a little further and glanced around the corner.

A lumpy umbrella stand zoomed past and landed with a thump and a puff of dust. Something beneath it squealed. Kreacher let out a little triumphant noise and Padfoot, who Harry spotted at the bottom of the stairs, let out a laugh as Kreacher sent the umbrella stand after another dust bunny.

"Harry!" he called. "You can come up if you'd like!" Harry stepped out into the hallway a little guiltily. "That was fast," Padfoot commented, raising an eyebrow. Harry didn't say anything but felt his face flaming up. He wondered what Padfoot would say; Uncle Vernon would have sent him to his cupboard by now. Padfoot gave him a contemplative look - leaned out of the way as the umbrella stand flew by - and then said, "Next time, you should wait longer before showing yourself. It's not as suspicious." Harry stared. "And stomping about, or pretending to be out of breath is something you might want to consider," he added thoughtfully. "Just for effect."

"You're not... You don't-"

"I don't what?" Padfoot asked, patting the stair beside him.

Harry sat a little nervously. "You're not angry?"

"Erm... no..." Padfoot said. His expression flickered and he looked troubled. "I'm really not cut out for this whole parenting thing, am I?" Before Harry had a chance to answer that, he shrugged and let out a bark-like laugh. "Tell you what: you eat your vegetables tonight with dinner and we'll call it even. Deal?"

"Er... okay," Harry said.

Padfoot frowned. "I'm definitely doing it wrong. You should have found that unreasonable."

"Sorry?" Harry said.

"Don't apologise, it's not your fault." Harry stared at him. Padfoot was quiet - the only noises were those made by Kreacher and the dust bunnies popping out of existence - and then said, "Fuck it." Harry's eyebrows climbed but he didn't appear to notice. "-I'll do this guardian thing my way. I'll be as reasonable as I damn well want and you can just deal with that."

"Erm..."

"And I'd appreciate if you didn't use that word I used before," Padfoot added, looking sheepish. "Your mother would kill me."

"Would would my dad think?" Harry asked curiously.

"He'd find it funny," Padfoot said, smiling slightly. "He and Remus probably would have had a bet going about which word I'd let slip first, or how old you'd be before I corrupted you."

The reaction fit with the laughing face Harry had seen in Padfoot's mirror the night before. Slowly, he was building an idea of what his parents had been like, and the more he found out - which was still reasonably little - the more he wished he'd had the chance to know them.

Padfoot sniggered from next to him. Harry followed his gaze to Kreacher, who was trying to squash another dust bunny. "Why doesn't he just use magic?" Harry asked, thinking about Padfoot dealing with them last night.

"House elves and dust bunnies are mortal enemies," Padfoot said, shrugging. "Some house elves just want them gone, others get rather-" Kreacher shrieked. "-well, rather like Kreacher, and figure a painful death's better, I suppose."

"Mortal enemies?"

"A house elf lives to please," Padfoot said, and they both watched as Kreacher stomped on one of the little grey creatures. "A dust bunny is living proof that an elf's failed to keep the house clean. They take it as a personal insult."

"But Kreacher's been here for years," Harry said. "Shouldn't they all be gone by now?"

Padfoot thought for a moment. "No. After my mother died, I think Kreacher recognised on some level - a very deep, subconscious level, mind - that he wasn't serving anyone anymore. House elves only take pride in their work when someone's around to appreciate it - or punish them for not doing it. Now that we're here, he'll take some pride in the house."

"What _are_ dust bunnies?" Harry asked, his eyes following one as it hopped past with Kreacher in close pursuit. "Are they alive?" They were quite small - the size of mice rather than rabbits - and grey, with long ears and round bodies.

"Not really. They're magic," Padfoot said. "A muggle house gets dirty if it's not looked after, right?" Harry nodded. "Same with wizarding houses. The wards weaken a bit, if there are any, and magical residue leaks out and forms those." He pointed at one of the bunnies which was contentedly nibbling on a patch of frayed carpet. "When they - die isn't quite the right word but it's the only one I can think of - the magic goes back into reinforcing the house and its occupants."

"So the - did you call them wards?" Padfoot nodded. "Are weak?"

"I'll need to do something about them soon," Padfoot said thoughtfully. "But getting rid of dust bunnies is probably a good start."

Harry watched Kreacher stamp another one into the carpet. "How?"

Padfoot grinned wickedly and then it wasn't a man sitting there, but a large, shaggy dog. Harry jumped. That was going to take time to get used to. Padfoot leapt up and barked at Harry, his tail wagging and then went bounding after a dust bunny.

Between them, Kreacher and Padfoot seemed to have things under control so Harry watched for a bit - and laughed when Padfoot skidded in a patch of dust and made a yelping noise that sounded impressively like a swear word - and was then coerced into playing a game of tag with his dog-godfather, while Kreacher continued to wage war on the dust bunnies.

If the day was any indication of what was to come, Harry thought he was going to enjoy living with Padfoot very much indeed.

-()()()()()-

Remus Lupin had thought his life was about as bad as it was possible to get. He'd spent the past month at a werewolf camp, trying to talk sense into Greyback - who was getting restless again, and had bitten a girl a month back - and had returned only a week ago, with a number of new scars for his efforts, to learn that Sirius Black, his old friend-turned-enemy, had escaped from Azkaban; very little wizarding news got through to the camps, unfortunately. As if this all wasn't bad enough, things had become a thousand times worse by the arrival of a weary - and for the first time since Remus had known him - scared - Professor Dumbledore.

"I don't want the Aurors here," Remus said. "I can handle Sirius if it comes to it."

"I'd thought as much," Dumbledore said quietly and then fell silent.

"It doesn't make sense!" Remus said, his voice muffled because his face was buried in his scarred hands. "Sirius-" Remus had decided long ago that he would still call Sirius 'Sirius', for the same reasons he had called Voldemort 'Voldemort'. "-didn't have to tell the muggles he was taking Harry. It would have made more sense to just kidnap him."

"I fear Sirius may have been unhinged by his time in Azkaban," Professor Dumbledore said, his eyes lacking their usual twinkle. "What makes sense to him may seem like insanity to us."

"Sirius was always a little mad," Remus admitted, a shadow of a smile crossing his face before he remembered what had happened and he forced it off. "But I don't understand why he took him! Harry killed Voldemort, so _maybe_ Sirius wants revenge but if he was going to kill him then he'd have done it by now, surely? He wouldn't have even bothered to 'adopt' him, he'd have just killed him and run."

"You are forgetting the prophecy."

Remus had to think for a moment. James had sat him and Sirius down years ago and explained in an unusually serious voice that Voldemort was after Harry. Peter hadn't visited that day - he'd been sick - and so he didn't know about it. Remus wished bitterly that Sirius had been the one who was sick and Peter had heard it instead. Lily and James might still- _No. I won't think about that._ Remus forced his thoughts back to the prophecy. It took him a moment to remember it, and then a moment longer to identify the part Dumbledore was talking about.When he did, his heart gave a little leap.

"'Either must die at the hand of the other'," he breathed.

Dumbledore looked older than Remus had ever seen. "It is possible, of course, that Sirius killing Harry on Voldemort's orders would fulfil this," he said heavily. "But Voldemort, as we know, takes prophecy very seriously. Sirius doubtless told him the entire thing when he swapped sides, and, if I am correct, Voldemort will want to kill Harry himself. Sirius will merely keep him captive until that time comes."

"So Sirius won't hurt him," Remus said.

Dumbledore closed his eyes. "We have no guarantee of that. The only thing we can assume - and even then, not safely - is that Harry is alive."

"We have to find him," Remus said, throwing himself to his feet to pace.

"Do you know anything that might help us find them?"

"Are you asking if he's contacted me?" Remus said, stopping mid-step. "Are you saying I'm helping him?"

"Remus, sit down," Dumbledore said with a sigh. Remus sat. "I said nothing of the kind. I'm asking for your help, because you know him better than anyone else."

"I thought I knew him," Remus muttered. He sighed loudly, throwing his head back. "You said he went to London?" he asked. "Is Enid safe?"

"Mrs Pettigrew is under guard," Dumbledore assured him. "She will be moved to a safe house within the week."

"And Alice and Frank's boy. Neville?" Remus asked, worried Sirius might be out to fulfil the prophecy.

"Minerva is there now." Remus nodded, relieved. "I have had it confirmed that Sirius visited the Leaky Cauldron."

"I don't think he'd have gone in to see Tom," Remus said dryly. "He would have gone to Diagon Alley."

"Not Knockturn?"

Remus scrunched up his mouth and shook his head. "I can't see any reason for him to go there, especially if Harry was with him. Children stand out in Knockturn Alley." Dumbledore nodded. "So he probably went for money," Remus said, staring at the ceiling of his living room. "I know no one was looking for Harry yet, but even so... to take him out in public was risky, and not something he would have done if he didn't have to."

"Why money? Sirius didn't seem to care for it all that much during the Order days."

"He doesn't, I don't think, but he's not foolish enough to think he can get by without it. And money is the only thing at Diagon Alley that can't be ordered by owl."

"I'll ask the Ministry to send people there first thing tomorrow. Anything else?"

"If I'm right about him going to Gringotts for money then he's probably planning to stay in one place for a while... that makes me think he still has Harry with him... has anyone checked his old flat?"

"I made enquiries at the Ministry," Dumbledore said. "It was reclaimed a year after he was sent to Azkaban. His belongings were taken as evidence and are being held in a Ministry-owned storage facility. The flat is currently inhabited, and under guard by Aurors in case Sirius decides to return."

"But he hasn't yet?"

"Not as far as the Ministry or I are aware. Can you think of anywhere else Sirius would be compelled to stay?"

"Hogwarts, maybe? James, Peter, Sirius and I knew it better than anyone... there's no reason for him to go there, though. If Harry'd been at school he might have but he's not..." Remus thought hard for a moment. Potter Manor had been destroyed in the War and Lily and James' cottage in Godric's Hollow was in no state to be inhabited. "The only other one I can think of is Grimmauld Place and Sirius _hated_ -"

"It's empty," Dumbledore said. "Alastor searched it himself on Saturday and then again on Monday-" _Harry was taken on Tuesday though,_ Remus thought. Dumbledore seemed to read his mind. "Marlene was told to keep an eye out and we've heard nothing."

Remus nodded and then sighed. "I really can't think where else he might have gone, Professor."

"Thank you for your help, then, Remus. I need to get back to Hogwarts, but I'll be in contact; your insight into how Sirius thinks could well find Harry."

"That's it?" Remus asked flatly.

"For now. I daresay the Aurors will have questions for you but they'll be another day away, yet, I think-"

"This is the only way I get to help? Answering questions?"

"The only way? Remus, you've been invaluable."

"I want to be out there helping," Remus said. "I want to be looking for him. He's James and Lily's _son!_ He's my godson!"

"Pardon?"

"The night Harry was born, James and Sirius broke into the St Mungo's administration room and put me down as Harry's godmother. It's not quite legal but James wouldn't have done it if he didn't mean it." Remus said all of this very quickly, too agitated to care that his usual calm demeanour was slipping and that he was very close to shouting.

"Ah, yes, I do remember you telling me that-"

"So do I. It was the night you took Harry to his aunt's house," Remus said bitterly.

"Remus, you know why I couldn't give you custody of the boy..." Dumbledore said.

"I can understand you wanting to keep him safe, and wanting him to grow up out of the public eye," Remus said frustrated; they'd had this argument a number of times in the past. "I _don't_ understand why you forbade me to have any contact with him. And I certainly don't know why I couldn't get to know him after Sirius broke out; Harry would have been safer with me! You could have put up wards – maybe not as strong as they were with Petunia, but strong enough – and I would have been able to protect him."

"Remus, you _know_ why I couldn't do that-"

"I'm dangerous for one night a month. He could have gone to Arabella's, or back to his aunt's for the full moon and stayed with me for the rest of the time! I-"

"The Ministry would not have approved," Dumbledore interrupted.

"Since when have you cared what the Ministry do and don't like?" Remus said.

"The last thing we needed was for the Ministry to worry about your ability to care for him and remove him from your custody and mine."

"The last thing we needed was for Sirius to bloody kidnap him!" Remus shouted. With a shaky breath he leaned back against the wall. "I'm sorry, Professor," he said, burying his face in his hands.

"There is no need to apologise," Dumbledore said, resting a hand on Remus' trembling shoulder. With it, Remus was surprised to find, was a scent of guilt. _So Professor Dumbledore wishes things had been different now too..._ "You being upset is understandable, and you being angry is even more so. I really do need to get back to the school but I'll see what I can do about getting you involved with the search."

"Thank you," Remus said, his voice muffled. "There's Floo Powder on the mantel."

"Yes, I remember. Take care, Remus, and let me know if you think of anything else. Headmaster's Office, Hogwarts." There was a whooshing sound and then he was gone. Remus slid down the wall to the floor and began to cry.

-()()()()()-

Harry ran into the library, eyes looking for a hiding place. He immediately discounted the bookshelf covered walls – he'd never get to the top in time – the desk was fixed to the wall so hiding under that wouldn't work... Harry ran out onto the second floor landing, nearly bowling Kreacher over in the process.

"Sorry," he said hastily as the elf glared at him. Padfoot had threatened to free him after one particularly nasty comment and Kreacher was a little edgy around the pair of them now, even though Padfoot had no intention of following through with it; Padfoot had explained to Harry that Kreacher would remain in the house, if only so he didn't go running off and tell the Ministry of Magic where Harry and Padfoot were. Harry, resigned to Kreacher's company for the foreseeable future, was determined to be civil, despite not liking the elf awfully much.

"The Potter brat needs to watch where he's going," Kreacher said to the moth-eaten carpet. "Kreacher could have been hurt. Not that Master would have cared. Master's a heartless wretch-"

"Do you think you could take me downstairs with your Apprarating thing?" Harry asked breathlessly. Yesterday afternoon, Padfoot had played around with a tapestry in the drawing room and managed to bind Kreacher to Harry. While the elf now had to obey Harry's orders, Harry, who was well used to being ordered around, felt it was politer to ask. "Please?" he added.

"The brat has legs but he wants Kreacher to do his moving for him, oh, yes. Poor Mistress would weep to see Kreacher used as a form of transport-"

"I'm hiding from Padfoot," Harry said. "It's a game." And if Padfoot finds me, he wins, but if he can't, _I_ win." Harry had learned very quickly that Kreacher liked Padfoot about as much as Padfoot liked Kreacher, which wasn't much at all. He'd learnt that either would do anything to spite the other; Padfoot liked to talk louder than was necessary about how horrible his mother had been and Kreacher liked to try to find loopholes in the simplest orders. "He won't have realised I can get downstairs, because he's on the first floor."

"Master doesn't like to lose," Kreacher said gleefully. He fixed Harry with a curious look and then held out his hand. Harry took it. Kreacher's bony fingers tightened on his and then they were both being squeezed. Harry's ears popped and he felt like he was being pulled through a tube and then, before he was fully aware of it, he was standing in the kitchen. He grabbed the edge of the table for fear of toppling over.

"Thanks," he panted, trying to re-orient himself.

"At least the brat has manners," Kreacher muttered.

Harry ignored this and set about making tea. He figured that by the time Padfoot realised he wasn't upstairs, tea would be ready and they could have a break before they went back to cleaning. "Would you like some?" he asked Kreacher as he fumbled with the polished silver teacups in the dresser. Kreacher stared as if he'd never seen Harry before. "Kreacher?"

"No," Kreacher said slowly. "No, Kreacher is too busy for tea. Master would never let Kreacher rest for tea."

"Padfoot won't mind," Harry said, carrying everything back to the kitchen bench.

"No, no tea," Kreacher said. His ears flapped as he shook his head. "The Potter brat should sit down. Kreacher will pour. Master would never forgive Kreacher if the little brat burned himself on the kettle." The elf wandered over and shooed Harry away from the bench. "Master likes scones with his tea," Kreacher muttered. "Oh, yes, Kreacher remembers, scones with jam."

"Do you want help?" Harry asked, getting up from his place at the kitchen table.

"No, no. Kreacher lives to serve the House of Black," Kreacher said, snapping his fingers. Flour, sugar and eggs floated from the pantry. Harry was suddenly very glad they'd emptied and re-stocked the pantry the day before, since Kreacher probably would have made scones regardless of whether the ingredients were fresh or not.

When Padfoot finally came downstairs – almost an hour after Harry and Kreacher – Harry was on his third scone and his teacup was almost empty. "Figured it out, did you?" Harry asked, spreading more jam onto his scone.

"No," Padfoot grumbled, having recovered from looking surprised. "I thought you might have been somewhere in my old bedroom."

"Why'd you come downstairs then?"

"I smelled food," Padfoot said with a sheepish smile. Harry sniggered and passed him a teacup. "You've been productive."

"Thank Kreacher," Harry said, taking a bite of his scone.

"Kreacher?" Padfoot said, freezing with his spoon suspended over the sugar pot. He shot a look at the now rather depleted plate of scones. "Kreacher made the scones?" he asked sharply.

"And the tea," Harry said, unfazed.

"So he is good for something," Padfoot said, frowning at Kreacher's den. "Who'd have known?" Harry frowned too, but at his godfather. Padfoot noticed and sighed, making a face. " _Thank you_ , Kreacher," he called. Kreacher mumbled something from behind his den door. Harry's expression cleared instantly, making Padfoot grin.

"What?" Harry asked.

"Your mum used to use that same look when James and I were invited to Ministry events and had to make conversation with stuffy old politicians." Harry grinned. "Some of them were the most conceited bastards I've ever met and all of them were so boring they could put an insomniac into hibernation but we still had to be nice." Harry laughed into his teacup. Padfoot stared at him for a moment, then at his own untouched teacup and then at the plate of scones. "These had better not be poisoned," he said warningly. Harry snorted tea up his nose.

They spent the rest of the day in the first floor bathroom - like the rest of the house, snakes seemed to be a prevalent decoration; the cabinet handles, door-knob, taps and showerhead were all serpentine - trying to restore it to some level of functionality. Padfoot had had Kreacher help - the elf had managed to get the toilet working again - but he'd also had driven them both mad with his endless muttering, so Padfoot had sent him away again. "This reminds me of detention with McGonagall," he said fondly, spraying the sink with a jet of soapy water from his wand.

"She made you clean sinks?" Harry asked in disbelief.

Padfoot smiled at his shocked expression. "The entire Prefect's Bathroom," he said ruefully. "And we weren't allowed to use magic, either."

"What did you do to earn that?" Harry asked, dropping his sponge.

Padfoot smiled in a way that Harry was getting to know very well; sheepish, but with no trace of regret for doing whatever it was he'd done. "It was James' idea," he said. "The Slytherin Prefect – Yaxley, I think his name was – was a real arse to us... always calling James and me blood-traitors and giving Moony a hard time because he had hand-me-down robes... Prongs already fancied your mum-"

"Is Prongs my dad?" Harry asked, confused.

Padfoot looked shocked. "I haven't told you that yet?" Harry shook his head. Padfoot groaned. "Sorry, kiddo, yes, James was Prongs. Remus was Moony – you know that one – I'm Padfoot and Peter was Wormtail."

"Hang on," Harry said, staring at his godfather. "Your name isn't Padfoot?"

"Er... no," Padfoot said. Harry stared at him. "It's Sirius. Surely you've heard Kreacher say it?"

"Sirius Black," Harry mused, attacking a particularly stubborn piece of soap scum with his sponge. "No, I haven't; he only calls you 'Master'." Padfoot – Sirius – sniggered. "So why did you have nicknames?"

"For our Animagus forms."

"Padfoot for a dog, Wormtail for a rat... What were Moony and Prongs?"

"Moony was... a wolf," Padfoot said, his expression changing slightly. "Prongs was a stag."

"Was my mum an Animagus too?" Padfoot shook his head. Harry took a moment to absorb this. Then: "So what did you do to the Prefect's Bathroom?"

Padfoot grinned. "As I was saying, Yaxley was a real git. He thought he was better than your mum, because he had wizarding relatives and she didn't - remember the m-word?"

Harry nodded and then laughed. "He didn't like her because her parents weren't magical? That's stupid."

"That's what the whole war was about," he said gravely. Harry's eyebrows shot up. "But you're completely right; it _is_ stupid. We decided to get back at him for that."

"How?"

"I wanted to put something in his food," Padfoot said, testing to see if the tap worked. Orange, rusty water sprayed in all directions out of the serpent's mouth and he hastily turned it off again and shook like a dog. "Make him grow a beard, turn his hair pink, something like that. Prongs didn't think that was good enough. I can't remember if it was Moony or your dad that did it, but _someone_ got their hands on a live squid – we put a few charms on it to make it smarter and able to survive in bathwater, and we also spelled its ink to be sticky - and managed to get it into the pipes just before Yaxley's bath."

"Where'd it go wrong?"

"What makes you think it did?"

"You said you got caught," Harry said.

"I blame Moony," Padfoot sniffed. "As our researcher he should have mentioned that the charms we cast on the squid to add qualities to its ink would react with the Engorgement Charms in the bubble taps."

"So what happened?" Harry asked, trying not to laugh at the image that was forming in his head.

"The squid grew," Padfoot said with a barking laugh. He touched the tap with his wand again, muttering something under his breath and then turned it on. It ran normally, with nice, clear water. "The thing had no idea what was going on and sprayed ink everywhere – extra sticky ink, I might add-"

"Did it get Yaxley?"

"Oh, yes," Padfoot said happily. "Yes, I don't think he was properly clean for a month. But it also got us; Prongs, Moony, Peter and I trailed ink from the Prefect's Bathroom to our dormitory." Harry winced sympathetically. "Old Minnie was _not_ happy when she found out."

"Minnie?"

"Professor Minerva McGonagall," Padfoot said. "Head of Transfiguration and also the Head of Gryffindor House."

"Was she strict?" Harry asked. Her title certainly implied it.

"Yes, but fair, too, even if we didn't think so at the time. You'll see what I mean in a few years."

"When?"

"When you go to Hogwarts," Padfoot said, giving him a funny look. "Didn't we talk about this during dinner?"

"Right," Harry said, remembering. He gave his godfather a sheepish smile. "Sorry."

Padfoot grinned, picking up his sponge. "Don't worry about it. But, when you get there – to Hogwarts, I mean – make sure you have a look in the lake."

"Why?"

"Let's just say a certain, very large cephalopod with extremely sticky ink now calls the lake home..."

-()()()()()-

"Bloody buggering hell," Padfoot said emphatically on the third day. He dropped a newspaper onto the table.

"What?" Harry said, lowering his spoon.

"I'd half hoped Dumbledore and the Ministry would want to keep this quiet."

"This?"

"That I kidnapped you," Padfoot said with a strained smile. He sighed at the paper and pushed it toward Harry. "They've organised a search."

Harry stared at his photo on the front page of the newspaper, which was right beside one of Padfoot, snarling at the photographer. "How did they get my school photo? And why's it moving?" He remembered the day it had been taken; earlier in the day, Dudley had shoved him and he'd shoved Dudley back, just in time for Mrs Peterson to see. She'd lectured him on treating his classmates with respect and proceeded to keep him in her sight for the rest of the day to make sure he wasn't going to hurt anyone else. She'd been standing behind the photographer when Harry's photo was taken, glaring at him. It really wasn't surprising that Harry's photographic-self looked so terrified.

"Your Aunt must have had a copy," Padfoot said, sounding distracted. "And they'll have enchanted it to move because wizards aren't used to still photographs."

"Huh," Harry said, beginning to read the article:

 _The kidnapping of Harry Potter, the child we all know as 'The Other Boy Who Lived' (pictured above) has put doubts about safety from He Who Must Not Be Named's followers into the minds of the magical community for the first time in seven years. It is believed that mass murderer Sirius Black (also pictured above) approached Potter at a playground near his Little Whinging home on Tuesday night and persuaded him to leave his muggle relatives, who, thankfully, were not harmed during the abduction._

 _Albus Dumbledore was responsible for sending the boy to live with the muggles in the first place and is now facing open criticism from the public for not moving the boy sooner. "The Potter boy should have been moved as soon as Black escaped," said one witch from Bath. "Or at the very least, the house should have been placed under Auror supervision."_

 _In his statement last night, Albus Dumbledore admitted he himself had thought Harry would be safe in the wards he set up around the Little Whinging home shortly after the defeat of He Who Must Not Be Named. Junior Curse Breaker William Weasley spoke to reporters after investigating the property: "I don't know what happened," said Weasley. "As far as I can tell, the wards were fully operational on Tuesday night and started to decay very late Tuesday or possibly even early Wednesday. All I know is they're gone now." He also stated that the wards were "strong" and that such rapid decay "isn't normal". Clearly Black is behind it._

 _After leaving the Little Whinging household, it is believed Black altered his and Potter's appearance before hailing the Knight Bus which took them to the Leaky Cauldron in London. Jeremy Philips, the Knight Bus Conductor conversed with the two without noticing anything unusual. "They seemed nice to me, like a normal father and son," he said during his interview this morning. "I didn't suspect a thing, but I suppose that's a good thing, because I don't have any special training. I might have ended up like Pettigrew."_

 _Staff from Gringotts Wizarding Bank confirmed Black and Potter visited and made a withdrawal from the Black family vault, though no figure has been given to Aurors or reporters. When questioned on the topic, staff refused to give any details other than the fact the two were there, due to everything else being "private". Aurors are currently investigating the possibility of Black having a goblin accomplice but so far, the goblins are adamant they will not to become involved in wizarding affairs._

 _Black and Potter's whereabouts remain unknown though they are believed to have stayed in Britain. In a statement this morning, Minister Bagnold "urge[s] anyone with any information about either Black or Potter to contact the Auror Office immediately." She also "remind[ed] the public that Black is in possession of his wand and so should not be approached directly."_

 _In addition to the investigation led by the Department Of Magical Law Enforcement, wealthy Ministry benefactor Lucius Malfoy has agreed to finance a search led by volunteers: "I find it heart-breaking," said Mr Malfoy as he left the Ministry last night, "that a child as young and helpless as little Harry Potter is in the possession of a man like Sirius Black. As a father of two boys the same age as young Potter, I felt it was my moral duty to assist in any way possible. My wife and I both feel that a little of our gold is a small price to pay for Potter's rescue." Mr Malfoy has also stated he will be joining the search himself when he has the time and is pushing for others to do the same: "I do not believe a few hours of my time, or anyone's time for that matter, is more important than the life of a child. Anyone interested in helping may contact me via owl and I will assign them an appropriate role in the search."_

 _Until he is found, our thoughts go out to Harry Potter who is no doubt terrified, and to his muggle relatives, who must have been shaken by the abduction._

"Shaken?" Harry said, choking back a laugh. "Did they talk to the Dursleys at all?"

"Hmm?" Padfoot said, still sounding distant. "Oh, probably not," His chair scraped as he got up to make himself a cup of tea. "Do you want one?" Harry shook his head. "What did you think of the rest of it?" Padfoot asked guardedly, gesturing toward the paper.

"I don't know," Harry said, staring at the headline: _THE BOY WHO DISAPPEARED_. "Everyone seems really worried..."

"I told you there'd be people after us," Padfoot said, sitting down again.

"I just didn't realise there were so many people who'd be looking..." Harry said, scratching polish off the table with his fingernail. Padfoot blew on his steaming tea before looking up at Harry again. "They don't even know me!"

He was surprised to see that Padfoot looked upset. "I've made a real mess of this," Padfoot said, dropping his head into his hands.

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, staring at his soggy cereal.

"Stupid," he muttered. "I should have just left you there." Harry stared at his godfather, who was still face down on the table. He waited a few seconds for Padfoot to say something, but he didn't. Hurt and confused, Harry pushed his chair away from the table and stood. Padfoot made a funny sniffing noise and then looked up, confused. "Harry?" he asked, looking puzzled.

Harry turned and walked up the kitchen stairs. He didn't know if he was happy or sad that he couldn't hear Padfoot's footsteps behind him.


	6. Chapter 6

Sirius knocked gently on his old bedroom door. "Harry?" There was no response. "Can I come in, kiddo?" He waited out on the landing for a few seconds and then got impatient. _If he_ didn't _want me to come in, he would have said something. Let's just hope he's a brooder like Prongs and not a shouter like Lils... or me for that matter._ _  
_  
"Harry, I'm coming in," he said, reaching for the doorknob. Sirius twisted it, only to find it stuck. He frowned and tried again, but this time, the snake's head bit him. _What in the name of Merlin's skinny ankles...?_ "Did you lock the door? Harry?" He tried the door again. "This isn't funny, kid." With a loud sigh, he pulled his wand and tapped the door. There was a click and then it swung open.

Sirius stepped into the room as Padfoot and took a cautious sniff. He smelled dust, and a faint trace of both his and Harry's scents, but those were at least a day old. The window wasn't open and a glance told Sirius that it was still rusted shut. He checked under the bed and desk without hope, and even went through his old wardrobe and dressers.

"Harry?" he called after changing back. _Maybe he went into Reg's room, but I don't think either of us have gone in there since we came here..._ Sirius had no sooner stepped out onto the landing when his bedroom door swung shut and locked again. He jumped a foot in the air, and immediately glanced around to make sure no one had seen. He was sure that – wherever he was - James was laughing. "Kreacher!" he called irritably. CRACK! "Are you the one locking the doors? And I order you to tell the truth."

"Kreacher's been tending his Mistress," Kreacher croaked, sinking into a bow. "Kreacher likes his Mistress, oh yes, Kreacher's Mistress doesn't ask Kreacher foolish questions, oh no."

"A yes or no was all I wanted," Sirius said coolly. "Have you seen Harry? I know he came up here but he's not where I thought he was."

"Kreacher hasn't seen the brat."

"Unhelpful little bastard," Sirius muttered. "Bugger off then, back to my hag of a mother."

"You shouldn't talk to him like that," said a quiet voice. _Definitely Lily's son._

Sirius looked up immediately, ears twitching to find the source of the sound. There was a CRACK! as Kreacher Disapparated – Sirius glared at the spot where he'd vanished – followed by three loud clicks. He tried the door to his room and found it had unlocked again, and that the doorknob was just plain silver. There were several faint clicks downstairs that echoed up – presumably more doors unlocking – and then Sirius said, "So it was you locking the doors?"

"I didn't mean to," Harry said, his voice trembling slightly.

 _But you obviously didn't want to be found until now... so you accidentally locked every door in the house. James would be proud._ With a quiet chuckle, Sirius crossed the landing and pulled open the door of the cupboard opposite his bedroom. Sitting there, amidst a hell of a lot of dust and some moth-eaten pillowcases, was Harry. Sirius didn't even bother to hide how relieved he was to find him.

"What are you doing in the cupboard?" he asked gently, taking in the tight set of Harry's jaw – very similar to James' – and the resigned scent that was coming off him in waves. _Definitely a brooder._

"Sitting," Harry said, fiddling with his shoelace.

"Why in here, though?" Sirius asked, sitting down opposite him. Harry seemed to think about answering but then shook his head. "All right, then," he said. "We'll skip that one. When are you coming out?" Harry stared at him oddly and then mumbled something. "Sorry, kid, didn't quite catch that."

Harry's cheeks were slowly turning red. "I said that's not usually up to me," he said, staring at the floor of the cupboard.

Sirius closed his eyes as a picture of a small cupboard filled with dust, spiders and - most noticeably - a small bed, popped into his head. "I see."

"Sorry," Harry said hastily. Sirius opened his eyes and was shocked to see his godson looking anxious.

"What for?" he asked calmly.

"Er..." Harry said, looking lost, "I'm not really sure. Sorry's usually enough."

Sirius sighed. "You don't have anything to apologise for, kiddo, that's why you can't think of a reason."

"Oh," was all Harry said. They sat in silence for a few minutes, Sirius trying to decide how to bring up whatever had upset his godson, and Harry staring at his shoes. "So I can come out of here, then?" Harry asked finally.

"Of course," Sirius said, chuckling. "I'm still not sure why you came in here in the first place."

Harry smiled for a moment, but that quickly developed into a thoughtful look. "Habit, I suppose," he mumbled, getting up.

Sirius nodded. "As soon as the bathroom's decent, we'll see about fixing you a bedroom. That way, if you want to be alone, you don't have to sit in a cupboard." He didn't manage to stop his lips from twitching as he said that, though it really wasn't funny.

Harry watched him curiously. "So you aren't taking me back to the Dursleys?"

"No," Sirius said, frowning. "Why would I do that?"

"In the kitchen... you said you should have left me there," Harry said, staring at his feet again.

 _Aha._ "I didn't mean I don't want you around," Sirius said, ruffling his godson's dusty hair. "I meant that you deserve better than to be stuck in this dreary old place with only me and Kreacher for company." Harry stared at him, mouth agape. "Don't you agree?" Harry shook his head vigorously, displacing the dust and making Sirius sneeze. "All we've done for three days is clean," Sirius said, frowning as they descended the stairs. "Kreacher's rude to you and I have no idea how to be a parent figure. How can this possibly be better?" Harry was laughing now. "What?" he asked. Harry stumbled down the last step and landed on the floor. "Harry!?"

"I'm okay," Harry said, still laughing.

Sirius grumbled to himself, feeling a little left out of Harry's joke. Harry picked himself up off the landing and - with a massive grin on his face – continued down the stairs. "What's so funny?" Sirius whined as they reached the first floor landing.

"It's not really _funny_ ," Harry said.

"You're laughing," Sirius pointed out.

"Better to laugh than cry, I guess," Harry said with a shrug. He said this with maturity far beyond his eight-and-a-half years and Sirius had to make an effort to keep his mouth from falling open.

"I think we're overdue for a talk," Sirius said slowly.

Harry's eyes brightened and he assumed an expression much more appropriate for his age. "Really?" he asked excitedly. "What about?"

"What it was like for you growing up," Sirius said shrewdly.

Harry's expression changed from open and eager to unreadable before Sirius could fully comprehend it. "It was boring," Harry said carefully, not moving from his place at the top of the next flight of stairs. "Like I said, I'm happier here."

Sirius might have been convinced if he hadn't said something very similar to Remus seventeen years earlier; early in second year after the truth about Remus' Furry Little Problem came out, Sirius had asked him what it was like to grow up with his condition. Remus had answered and then asked Sirius the same question in regards to his Dark family.

Sirius had told him eventually – after a considerable amount of prodding – and had actually felt better, though he'd been embarrassed to learn James had woken up midway through Remus' story and heard all of his. In the end, it had brought them – him, Remus and James – closer. _Merlin I miss them._ He turned back to his evasive-looking godson. "How about this: you tell me about growing up Dursley, and then you can ask me something."

"It's like I said," Harry muttered without meeting his eyes. "Boring."

"I'll be the judge of that," Sirius said in a tone appropriate for trying to settle a cornered wolf. "You obviously aren't one to share everything with someone just because they ask and that's not a bad way to be-"

"Then what's the problem?" Harry asked.

"You can't go around keeping everything to yourself either," Sirius said gently. "Maybe you've had to until now, but since we're all each other's got for the foreseeable future, it might be nice if we were on the same page." _Trust,_ he added silently, watching Harry think. _You've never had anyone trust you before, have you, or had anyone to trust?_

His former comparison to a cornered wolf suddenly seemed all the more appropriate; Harry assumed an expression uncannily similar to one of Remus' during first year. It only seemed natural that his thought processes would follow the same line; he could like someone, and deem them a friend without necessarily trusting them. And Sirius knew all too well that Remus' attitude had come from relying on himself, and himself alone until it had become instinctive. _What did they do to you?_ he thought toward his godson.

"You said I get one question for answering yours?" Harry said.

"A question, a favour, whatever."

"And it can be anything?"

"Anything at all."

Harry frowned, looking thoughtful. Sirius would have bet anything that he was deciding if it was worth it. "Can I save it?"

"If you'd like to," Sirius said.

"Okay," Harry said.

"Okay," Sirius said a little surprised. He'd honestly expected Harry would need more time to adjust to the idea of sharing.

Harry sat down on the carpeted landing and pulled his knees to his chest. "What do you want to know?" he asked warily.

Sirius followed his example and sat with his back pressed against the banister that overlooked the entrance hall. "What are you willing to tell me?" Harry shrugged, a gesture Sirius was beginning to recognise as an evasive technique. "How about you start with your cousin?"

Harry's mouth twitched. "Dudley and I don't get along very well. I think we did when we were little; I remember playing hide and seek around the house and I remember we used to build blanket forts in the living room. Dudley was always treated better though. He never had to do jobs around the house and he always got presents for his birthdays and for Christmas..." Sirius wondered if that meant Harry had never had presents before. When he thought about how little Harry had brought from Petunia's, he decided - grimly - that he probably hadn't. "-he's allowed to watch television and I'm not... that sort of thing."

"I know what television is," Sirius said proudly. Harry gave him an odd look. Sirius hid a smile, wondering how long it would take Harry to work out that wizards couldn't use ecklictricky like muggles. "Dudley got new things, while you got hand-me-downs," Sirius said, remembering their conversation at the playground. "Is that right?"

Harry nodded. "And if I hit him, I'd get in trouble, but if he hit me, he wouldn't. I- he- At school, he's-" Harry paused, looking thoughtful. "Er... Padfoot? Am I going back to school?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, St Grogory's is back in Little Whinging and we're... er... well, in London."

"Bloody hell," Sirius said aloud. He'd completely forgotten that Harry, who was raised as a muggle, would have gone to a muggle school. "Erm... Do you _want_ to go to school?"

"Er... well, not really," he said.

"You won't miss your friends?" An odd expression flickered over Harry's face and he shook his head. Sirius wondered at that didn't say anything. _Not yet_. "That's easy then. No more school."

For a moment, Harry looked delighted but then a look of horror flickered over his face. "What about Hogwarts?"

"What about it?"

"Will they still let me go? I'll be behind everyone."

"You can have lessons with me," Sirius said. "That's what pureblood kids do and none of them ever have problems." Harry looked relieved. "Now, what were you saying about school? This St Gargoyle place."

Harry laughed. "St Grogory's," he said. "Er... well, Dudley and his gang had it out for me a bit."

"How so?" Harry shrugged. Sirius' eyes narrowed. "Did they ever punch you or your friends, or try to drown you in a toilet?"

"No, they never tried to drown me," Harry said with an edgy laugh.

"Punches?" Sirius pressed.

"Sometimes," Harry said shrugging.

"Your friends too?"

His cheeks took on a red tinge. "Just me."

 _Aha._ "Tell me about your friends," Sirius said, watching Harry carefully out of the corner of his eye.

Harry fidgeted. "There... er... there isn't much to tell," he said finally.

There were several questions Sirius wanted to ask but didn't; he'd save them for another time. "What were the teachers like?" he asked instead.

"I had Mrs Baddams the year before last and she was all right. She liked me better than Dudley, I mean. Aunt Petunia talked to Mrs Peterson before term started." He wrinkled his nose. "She never liked me."

"She's the one with the blue wig, right?"

"Yeah," Harry said looking sheepish.

Sirius didn't bother to hide his grin. "You're quite the wizard, kid. You're eight-and-a-half and you've already flown or Apparated, changed the colour of your teacher's hair, almost blinded Privet Drive and locked every door in the house."

"You're loads better," Harry said. "You could do all of that if you wanted to _and_ you're an Animagus."

"I couldn't do any of that at eight," Sirius said.

"Eight-and-a-half," Harry said.

"Irrelevant." Harry scowled but when he glanced away, his mouth twitched. "What about at home?"

"Home?"

"What's your aunt like?"

Harry shrugged. "My hair bothered her."

"She used to complain about James' hair too," Sirius said. Harry's eyes lit up. "She wouldn't let him in any of her wedding photos because his hair was 'as freaky as the rest of him'. Lily was rather put out with her about that. I think Vernon was only allowed in one of Lily's wedding photos, right at the back and that's only because Lily was too nice to cut him out altogether." That drew a laugh out of Harry. "What about your Uncle?"

"You saw what he's like," he said with another shrug.

"He's never abused you, has he?" Sirius asked cautiously, thinking back to the looming figure of Vernon Dursley shaking his nephew.

Harry shook his head vigorously. "He didn't like me but he never, I dunno, _beat_ me or anything." Harry hesitated and then added, "Dudley hit me every now and then."

"Badly?"

"A few bruises."

"Ever had a broken bone?" Harry shook his head. Sirius let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. "Whose idea was the cupboard?"

"Dunno," Harry said.

"Why don't you have one of the upstairs rooms?" Sirius had stayed at Number Four several times, back when it had belonged to Lily's parents, not her sister and knew they had at least two spare bedrooms upstairs and one downstairs.

"I'd be in the way," Harry said with an odd expression. "I'm always in the way."

"Not here you're not," Sirius said firmly. "So you just slept in the cupboard?" Harry's expression became thoughtful, as if he were trying to decide how to word what he was about to say. "You'd better not lie to me," Sirius warned.

Harry's expression and scent became guilty. "I wasn't supposed to talk about it," he said by way of explanation. Sirius waited. "Yeah," Harry said finally.

"You slept there?"

"I spent most of my time there," he admitted. "If I wasn't doing housework or at school, anyway." Sirius wasn't sure what his face looked like but Harry was compelled to add, "I didn't have to talk to them and they didn't have to talk to me."

"Sounds like a good system," Sirius said after a pause.

Harry shrugged. "It worked."

"You mentioned housework?"

"Cooking, cleaning and gardening, but only in the back garden." Sirius lifted an eyebrow. It was a gesture Remus had used against him and James, and one that always seemed to get results. "Aunt Petunia didn't want the neighbours talking."

For some reason, that made Sirius smile. It wasn't that it was funny, or that he agreed that neighbours couldn't be trusted. It was that, despite everything else that had happened, Petunia Evans - now Dursley - was exactly the same woman that Sirius had terrorised the first time they'd met.

"Did you earn much pocket money?" he asked, grinning. Harry's pause was enough of an answer. Sirius' smile started to slip but he caught it and fixed it in place. "No? Well, as of now, you get a galleon a week."

"But- Why?" Harry looked stunned.

"Because we've got a lot of cleaning ahead of us and you deserve a reward for helping." From the look on his face, Sirius could see this was a completely new concept for his godson. "It'll be good for you; you'll learn how to manage money and how to save up for things."

"A galleon's too much," Harry said at once. "Gurbock said that was five pounds!"

"I know what a galleon's worth, kiddo," Sirius said, grinning.

"But-"

"But nothing," Sirius said, still grinning. Harry kept mumbling his disagreement. "Otherwise I'll make it two galleons a week." That shut his godson up. Another thought that had evaded him recently brought itself to his attention again. "Speaking of galleons, we need to hide them."

Harry cocked his head. "Them?"

"The money we took out on Tuesday night. We can't just leave a fortune sitting in your rucksack," Sirius said. "We'll leave some of it there, obviously, but we should spread the rest around a bit."

"Why?" Harry asked.

"Just in case we have to leave in a hurry."

"But we're safe here, aren't we?"

Sirius debated between being honest, or being comforting. _He's just spent the past Merlin-know-how-long being honest with me. Besides, I've been honest with him so far,_ he thought, _and he's still coping._ "I don't know," he said. "Anyone that knows me knows I hated this place but after they finish searching the places I _do_ like, they'll start searching anywhere else I'm associated with. After that it's only a matter of time before they stop by."

"What'll we do?" Harry asked.

"Make it safe."

-()()()()()-

Shortly after their conversation on the landing, Padfoot and Harry returned to the kitchen. Padfoot went straight to Harry's rucksack - which had been resting in a chair at the table since they moved in - and retrieved his bags of money. "Are you up for hiding?" he asked.

Harry's eyes widened. "Me?"

"No, the kid behind you," Padfoot said, smirking. "Yes, you," he said, ruffling Harry's hair.

"I s'pose," Harry said.

"Excellent. Try to put an equal amount on each floor so-"

"Padfoot, there are two thousand galleons in each bag," Harry said.

"Fifty galleons and a few muggle bank notes is plenty. You can leave what's left in here and I'll sort it out later." Padfoot's expression flickered as he thought of something. "And _don't_ hide each coin individually." Harry laughed. "Got all that?" Harry nodded. "Good. I'll be in the library if you need me."

"The library?"

"It's a place with books," Padfoot said seriously. "Very dusty books, I might add and-"

"I _know_ what a library is," Harry said, exasperated.

"One would hope so." Harry made a face. "I'll be researching," Padfoot said. "I want to make sure we don't end up with any surprise visitors."

It took Harry longer than he'd expected to hide the coins around the house but he was happy with the results. He'd even had the foresight to borrow a piece of parchment and a quill from the study on the ground floor to record all of his hiding places.

"All done?" Padfoot asked when he walked into the library. Harry made his way to the large, curved couch where his godfather was sitting surrounded by dust and books and passed him the piece of parchment. One sleeve of Padfoot's jumper was smeared with dust; he'd obviously used it to clean the table he was working at. "What's this?"

"A list of where I hid everything," Harry said, leaning on the arm of the couch. He'd never have dared do it at the Dursleys.

"Smart kid," Padfoot said, looking pleased. He marked the page of the heavy book he was reading and looked at the parchment. "Tin in the pantry," he read aloud, "filing cabinet in the ground floor study, vase on the drawing room bookshelf, dresser in the guest bedroom, bedside table in the master bedroom and," Padfoot smiled, "a pillowcase in the cupboard on the fourth floor."

"Are they good?"

"Very," Padfoot said, nodding. "One suggestion though: move the stash from the dresser in the bedroom to somewhere in here. It's easier to get to that way."

Harry shrugged. "All right." Then he frowned. "Why?"

"There's a fireplace in here," Padfoot said, gesturing to it, "and it and the one in the drawing room aren't connected to the Floo Network but they're connected to the kitchen fireplace which _is_ connected to the Floo Network. If we have to leave-"

"What's the Floo Network?"

"I suppose it's a bit like the muggle underground," Padfoot said after a moment of thought. "Except we use fireplaces, not stations."

"How do trains fit in a fireplace?" Harry asked.

Padfoot laughed. "They don't."

"Then what carries you?"

"The fire."

"But- don't you- I mean- fire's hot," he finished lamely.

Padfoot didn't laugh as Harry half-expected and a small grateful smile touched his face. "It is," he agreed. "We use Floo Powder to make it harmless. It's still warm, obviously, but it can't burn you. You throw it in, say where you're going and the fire... takes you there... it's sort of hard to explain."

"Do we have any Floo Powder?" Harry asked eagerly.

"No," Padfoot said. "I threw it all out a few days ago." Harry's face fell. "It has a use-by date and I've seen some nasty results when people use it without realising that."

"Like what?"

"Like worse than Splinching," Padfoot said grimly.

"Splinching?"

"When people Apparate – disappear from one place and appear almost instantly in another-" he said, forestalling Harry's next question, "-sometimes, if they aren't concentrating, they leave pieces of themselves behind." Harry felt a disgusted expression settle itself on his face as he pictured a pair of legs lying abandoned in the middle of a street that resembled Privet Drive. "It's not pretty," Padfoot said grimly. "I saw it quite a bit when I was an Auror; we'd be chasing someone who'd be so desperate to get away that they wouldn't be focused enough and... well..."

"Urgh," Harry said, wrinkling his nose.

Padfoot made a face and then frowned suddenly and scribbled something down on his own piece of parchment. "I remembered a ward," he said in response to Harry's confused look. He wrote something else. "And we'll need to buy more Floo Powder," he added with a grin before Harry could ask. Then he sighed. "I think we'll have to go back to Diagon Alley soon."

"Really?" Harry asked excitedly. Padfoot nodded. "Can we have more of a look around this time?"

"I'd like to take you to Quality Quidditch Supplies," Padfoot said thoughtfully. "Eight-and-a-half and you probably don't know what a Bludger is!"

"Is that bad?" harry asked tentatively.

"James is probably rolling in his grave," Padfoot said, his lips twitching. "And Lily will be furious that we've been living together for almost a week and I haven't taught you anything."

"You've taught me loads!"

"Not really," Padfoot said. "I've taught you things that any wizarding kid knows from birth. You were just behind... Tell you what; we'll get wards and maybe even a Fidelius Charm up today or tomorrow and after that, I'll start giving you lessons."

"Magic lessons?" Harry asked excitedly.

"Amidst other things. Here, you'll need this."

Harry accepted his godfather's wand with an eager smile and resisted the urge to wave it and see what would happen. "What for?"

"Fidelius Charm," Padfoot murmured, flicking through a heavy book.

"The charm my parents used?" he coughed.

"That's the one- Aha." Padfoot started skimming through a page of tiny writing.

"How does it work?"

"It's like an Unbreakable Vow," Padfoot said, and then sighed. "An Unbreakable Vow is-"

"Pretty self-explanatory, I'd think," Harry said.

Padfoot smiled. "There are three sets of people. There's the Secret - the person or people the charm's protecting - the Secret Keeper and there's a- well, in Unbreakable Vows they're called Bonders but that's the wrong word in this scenario. More like... a witness. They leave midway through so they aren't actually in on the secret."

"So who's what?" Harry asked.

"You're the Secret," Padfoot said. "I'm the Secret Keeper and Kreacher can be our witness."

Harry shifted one of the books surrounding Padfoot and sat down on the edge of the table. "Is he allowed to be?"

"I don't see why not."

"Does it only protect the house? The charm, I mean."

"Unfortunately, yes. Once we – or you, in this case – leave the boundary - I'm thinking that'll be the front steps - we're fair game again."

"So we're stuck here?" Harry asked. He'd rarely been allowed out at Number Four and he certainly preferred Padfoot's company to the Dursleys', so he didn't think that would be too bad. Padfoot had just mentioned a trip to Diagon Alley though, and Harry was eager to go. He brightened, however, when Padfoot answered.

"No. I think we'll just have to be careful," Padfoot said. "It'll mean disguises when we go out and we'll need some sort of back-up plan if either of us is recognised."

"But can't you Apparate like Kreacher?"

"I can. You can't."

"I'll just stay next to you then," Harry said, shrugging.

"That might not always be possible. What if we were somehow separated, or if there was a duel?"

"Dunno," Harry said. "Couldn't I help?"

"Not yet. But we'll add that to the list of things I have to teach you: Duelling." Padfoot grinned. "We can clean the dining room – it's not like we'll be having people over anyway – and use that as a training room... You'll probably need a wand, too." Harry's eyes brightened at the idea. _A wand!_ Padfoot pulled another book toward him and read a few paragraphs. "I suppose there's always the Floo," he said, more to himself than Harry. "But you'd have to find a fireplace and then you'd have to say 'Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place'." His godfather snorted and snapped the book shut. "On second thoughts, perhaps not."

"Would it break the Fidelius Charm?"

"It would mean they know where to find us-" Padfoot said. He reached into his pocket, frowned and then extended a hand to Harry. Harry passed his wand back and Padfoot flicked it, making a book fly out of the shelves and land with a thump on the table. They both coughed in the resulting cloud of dust. "-but I don't think they'd be able to get to us. They'd probably block the Floo Network and catch us the next time we went out." To himself more than Harry he muttered, "I suppose there are always Portkeys..."

"What's a Portkey?"

"Portkey," Padfoot said. "It's sort of like Apparition but you need to be touching something. Unfortunately, if someone got a hold of the Portkey, it would bring them straight here... there are ones with passwords but they're more to stop the Portkey triggering before you want it to."

"But if they didn't know the password they couldn't use it."

"No, but they could find out where it was going."

"How?"

"When you create a Portkey – you're supposed to register them, firstly, but no one does – you have to imagine the place you it'll take you. It's a lot like Apparating in that way. And, since you put so much energy into picturing that location, anyone with a bit of training - an Auror for instance - can see where it is and that would break the Fidelius Charm, since I'd be the one making the Portkey."

"So we're trapped, basically?"

"As long as we aren't seen by anyone when we go out, we're fine."

"And if we are?"

"Then we're trapped," Padfoot said, grumpily. "But if we don't do this, it's only a matter of time before someone realises this is the only place with a connection to me that hasn't been checked, and unfortunately, no ward's strong enough to keep the Aurors out when they come looking."

Harry absorbed this and then frowned thoughtfully. "Hey, Padfoot?" Padfoot raised an eyebrow. "D'you think maybe I could be Secret Keeper? We could swap-"

"No! No! No, absolutely not!" Padfoot shouted, leaping to his feet, his eyes wild and not quite focused.

"Sorry," Harry said in a small voice. "I was just-"

"I know," Padfoot said, seeming to remember where he was. He took a deep breath and sank to the floor, right where he was, despite the couch being only a few inches away. "Sorry," he said in a flat voice. "Sorry, I shouldn't have shouted."

"It's fine," Harry said, a little anxiously.

"No, it's not. It's not your fault..." he managed to get out. "I shouldn't have... I mean... it's just..."

"Just what?" Harry asked tentatively.

Padfoot looked up with haunted grey eyes. "The switch didn't go so well last time," he said, his voice catching slightly.

Suddenly, Padfoot's reaction seemed far more understandable."Right," Harry said, feeling incredibly guilty for even suggesting it. "Sorry... didn't think about that."

"I know... it's not your fault. It's just- urgh!" He aimed a kick at the couch. "Stupid Peter! And stupid me for even suggesting the whole damn thing in the first place!" The bookshelves trembled and Harry could feel _something_ thrumming in the air around them. "I'm sorry, all right!" Padfoot shouted at the roof. "I'm sorry I didn't get there earlier and I'm sorry I trusted him! I'm s-sorry I made you t-trust him!" Everything around Harry – the books, the parchment, the ink wells – flew off the table and crashed against the bookshelves. The chairs and desks that lined the wall by the door fell noisily and the fireplace made a rumbling sound.

"Padfoot?" Harry asked.

Padfoot's eyes focused on him and his lower lip trembled once. The library stilled again. "I'm so sorry, Harry," he croaked. Something in his tone made Harry fairly sure he wasn't apologising for shouting. A single tear ran down Padfoot's cheek. He brushed it away, looking astounded. Padfoot stared at the water on his hand and then he closed his eyes. More tears leaked out and his shoulders shook, but he didn't make a sound.

Harry, without thinking, slid off the arm of the couch and went to sit on the carpet beside his godfather, who was holding his head in his hands. Padfoot didn't move. "It's not- I don't blame you," Harry said.

"You should," Padfoot said, without looking up.

 _I don't think he's had a chance to be upset since they died..._ Harry realised with a little jolt. _He was chasing Peter and then he went to Azkaban... and from what he's told me about prison, he was too busy trying to remember that he was innocent to be properly sad about them. And he hasn't cried here... we're both still in the kitchen at night and I haven't heard him._ "I don't remember my parents, but from what you've told me of them, they wouldn't want you to blame yourself," Harry said in the same tone, trying to be as calm as Padfoot had been when he'd found him in the linen cupboard.

"Probably not," Padfoot said, his voice muffled. "Lils would have smacked me and told me enough was enough by now. And Prongs..." He laughed weakly, but it didn't seem forced. "Prongs would have told me I was a prat and done or said something to make me laugh." He finally looked up and his eyebrows rose as he took in the room. "Oops," he said sheepishly, taking in the mess. Harry laughed. "I'm sorry for shouting," Padfoot said.

Harry shrugged. "It's okay."

"No, it's not," he said, drying his eyes with the back of his hand. He sniffed once and then blinked. "I'm sorry." He offered Harry a small smile which Harry returned. "I think I'm going soft." He shook his head, apparently bemused. "If Prongs and Moony were here, I'd never hear the end of it," he said, and then paused, as if waiting for them to speak.

The silence was almost unbearable.

"So," Harry said, hesitantly in a quiet voice that seemed far, far too loud, "er... Secret Keepers...?"

"Yes," Padfoot said, keeping his voice steady, though Harry sensed it took a little effort. "Why do you think it should be you?"

Harry opened his mouth to say 'because I'm the last one anyone would suspect' and then clamped it shut again. "Well," he said seriously, "when it comes down to it," he said instead, "I'm not the one who _needs_ protection."

Padfoot frowned. "I don't think that's quite right, kiddo."

"It is," Harry insisted. "The worst they'll do to me is send me back to the Dursleys or foster me out to a wizarding family. I'd survive - I might not like it, but I'd be safe and looked after until I go to Hogwarts. If _you're_ caught, you'll go straight back to Azkaban. This way, even if they catch me, you're still safe."

"It's a huge commitment for you to take on," Padfoot pointed out.

Harry shrugged. "I can keep a secret."

"Can you now?" Padfoot asked, lifting an eyebrow.

"Well, yeah," Harry said. "I do it all the time."

"What secrets?" Padfoot demanded.

"Not from you," Harry said, grinning and rolling his eyes. "I meant from the Dursleys."

"Like what?" Padfoot repeated, curious now.

Harry shrugged. "I used to sneak out of my cupboard to get food, or watch television when they went out."

"James' son through and through," Padfoot said proudly. "This is a big secret, though, not something like sneaking food. Are you sure you can be trusted?"

"Of course! Even if I couldn't It's not exactly like there's anyone for me to tell, is there?"

Padfoot nodded thoughtfully. "All right," he said finally, looking serious. "You'll be Secret Keeper, at least until you start school, and then we'll reassess it... you're sure about this?" Harry nodded. "All right. See that book there - the big green one?"

"Yeah?"

"Chapter seven. Get reading."

"Yes, Master!" Harry said in what he thought was a fairly good imitation of Kreacher.

"Don't call me 'Master'... Catch."

Harry looked up just in time to catch the green book. " _Defensive Measures for the Paranoid_?" Harry read, laughing.

"You never met my father," Padfoot said darkly. "Of course, he'd never say 'paranoid'. 'Prepared' was his favourite word. Anyway, chapter seven's for the Secret Keeper."

Harry flipped the book open and began to read.


	7. Chapter 7

"I trust everyone here remembers Remus Lupin?" Dumbledore said, beaming around at his staff. It was the Easter holidays - not that that affected Remus terribly much, but the Hogwarts staff members had been quite busy until then.

"Of course," McGonagall said, favouring her old pupil with a smile, while Flitwick waved happily. "It's nice to see you again, Remus."

"You too, Professors," Remus said nodding at them both. He smiled around at the others; Sprout, his old Herbology professor, Hagrid, who'd hugged him when he arrived, Emmeline Vance who was teaching Defence, and Professor Quirrell, the young Muggle Studies teacher. The last, though, he was not pleased to see.

"Lupin," Snape said curtly.

 _Snivellus._ The thought came unbidden, before Remus could quite smother it. _Damn you, James. You always did say you would corrupt me._ "Snape."

"Now, I trust we all know why we're here," Dumbledore said, leaning back in his chair.

"To discuss the Potter boy," Snape said, with loathing in his tone. "I still fail to see how this affects me, Headmaster. I'm paid to teach, not chase James Potter's mentally unstable best friend - and any children he may or may not have kidnapped - around the country."

"I'm asking for your help, Severus," Dumbledore said in a pleasant, but firm tone. Black eyes met blue and a moment passed before Snape looked away and sighed but didn't argue any further. Remus was surprised at that, but then again, they weren't fifteen any more. Perhaps Snape had grown up as much as he had. "I trust you're still in contact with Lucius Malfoy?"

"It would be remiss of me not to be, after he 'honoured' me with custody over his son in the event of his death."

"Ah, yes," Dumbledore said jovially. "Draco, isn't it?" Snape nodded. "He'll be at Hogwarts-?"

"The year after next," Snape said curtly. "Along with his brother."

 _The year after next..._ Remus thought. "And Harry."

The occupants of the room turned to look at him. "If the boy survives," Snape said, looking unhappy.

"He will be," Remus said. It was a slim hope that Sirius would keep Harry alive because of the prophecy, but it was hope nonetheless and Remus was clinging to it with everything he had.

Dumbledore cleared his throat gently. "Back to Lucius, Severus; I want you to join his search for the boy."

"And when might I find the time to do that, Headmaster? Might I remind you that I have a N.E.W.T. class of _twelve_ this year and with examinations a mere two months away-"

"I am well aware, Severus," Dumbledore said, holding up a hand. "But perhaps an hour each Sunday could be set aside." Snape harrumphed and folded his arms. Dumbledore fixed Snape with a thoughtful look. "At the very least," he said finally, "make inquiries about the search's progress." Snape watched him, stony faced. "Lucius will be more open with you than anyone else."

Snape seemed to slump. "Very well, Headmaster."

"Thank you." Dumbledore said sincerely. "Remus, I would also advise you to make contact with Lucius Malfoy."

"Pardon?"

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "I know you and Lucius have had strained relations in the past-" That was sugar-coating it in Remus' opinion. "-but while you've been of great use to the Ministry in the past two months, their search is exclusive to Aurors and Hit Wizards and last I heard, you wanted to be actively searching."

"Well, yes, but-"

"Might I suggest you volunteer to search the muggle world?" Dumbledore continued. "That way, you needn't have much to do with Lucius at all."

"I'll owl him when we're finished here," Remus said decisively.

"Excellent. Minerva, have you had any luck at Number Four?"

"I've visited three times since February as you well know," she said stiffly. "None of the neighbours saw anything. It came as a surprise to most of them that the muggles even had another child!"

Dumbledore frowned. "It seems I will need to revisit Petunia Dursley after all." He sighed. "I imagine she'll be most unhappy."

Snape's lips twitched. "I imagine so, Headmaster."

Dumbledore gave him a searching look and then smiled slightly. "Ah, yes. I had forgotten."

Remus shared a look with McGonagall who looked just as puzzled as he felt. "Have there been any further theories as to _why_ the boy was taken?" Flitwick squeaked.

Dumbledore looked to Remus. "If Sirius had wanted Harry dead, he would have been dead by now," he said unwillingly, though it was true. "The fact that they're hiding makes me fairly sure Harry's still alive." _And the prophecy, of course._

"He'll be a Death Eater," Professor Sprout said sadly. "That poor little boy."

"If Sirius wanted to whisk him away and raise him as a Death Eater, he wouldn't have told the Dursleys he was taking Harry," Remus pointed out. "They both would have just disappeared. No, he's keeping him safe so that he can hand him over to Voldemort."

Mirrored on the faces around him were expressions of mingled pity, worry and - in Snape's case - revulsion. "That's all very well and good, Lupin," the Potions Master said. "But how long until Black tires of waiting and decides to kill him himself?" Flitwick trembled and fell off his chair. "Well, Lupin?"

"How am I supposed to know?" Remus asked heavily.

"I merely thought," Snape said silkily, "given your history, that Black might have come to you, looking for help... or an accomplice, perhaps..."

"Severus, really!" Professor McGonagall said, flaring up in Remus' defence. Hagrid stood up, looking angry and then sat down when Dumbledore shook his head. "You're not fifteen anymore!"

"I'm aware, thank you, Minerva!" Snape said, bristling.

"Then do make an effort to act your age!" she snapped. "The Headmaster was friends with Black too and I don't see you implicating _him_! Or me, for that matter!" One of the silver devices on the table in the corner was whirring madly. "Do you think, perhaps, that as his teacher, I taught him everything he knows? That I'm hiding Black and Potter in my office as we speak?"

"No," Snape said sulkily. "But he's..."

"A werewolf?" Remus asked tiredly.

Snape gave him a look of pure hatred. "They're dark creatures. Everyone knows that." Emmeline's face contorted but Remus shook his head at her.

"Oh?" Professor McGonagall's lips were dangerously thin. "I'd have thought you of all people, Severus, would know better than to judge people based on their pasts." Snape opened his mouth to protest, but didn't seem able to find the words. Remus had to concede that it was rather funny to watch a thirty-year-old man being lectured by his elderly colleague. "Or do I need to remind you of your less than exemplary record? Or that your questionable past arises from your own choices, while Remus' arose from circumstances he had no control over-"

"Minerva, that's quite enough," Dumbledore said, quietly. Professor McGonagall subsided, her face bright red.

"It's all right, Headmaster," Snape said, his face unreadable. "I spoke out of hand." Remus raised his eyebrows. Snape smiled nastily. "And I daresay Minerva's merely trying to get her own back... the loss of the House Cup five years running must be taking its toll..." McGonagall's nostrils flared and she shot Snape an angry look. Dumbledore chuckled. "After all, Gryffindors are renowned for their pride..."

"And Slytherins their humility," Remus said wryly. Professor Quirrell laughed nervously.

"Indeed," Snape said, giving him a sharp look. "Are we done here, Headmaster? I have essays to mark tonight if I am to find time to speak with Lucius tomorrow."

"You may leave, Severus, assuming the others have nothing to add." Dumbledore looked around the room but everyone shook their heads. Snape got up and left the office, his black robes billowing out behind him.

 _He still looks like a bat_ , Remus thought, amused. "Am I needed, Professor?" he asked.

"No, Remus, you may leave." Dumbledore gestured to the office door. "Good luck with that letter."

"I'll need it," Remus said morosely.

"I'll walk yeh down," Hagrid said unexpectedly, getting to his feet.

The pair said their goodbyes and left, and as they were headed down the staircase, Remus asked, "Is everything all right, Hagrid?"

Hagrid patted Remus' shoulder rather clumsily. "Yeh looked like yeh coulda done with company."

Remus smiled. "Perhaps," he admitted. "Thank you." Remus didn't end up going straight home. He found himself seated in Hagrid's hut, with a steaming, flowerpot-sized mug of tea in front of him. "Thank you," he said again.

Hagrid just waved an enormous hand. "'S no trouble at all," he said.

Remus added a liberal amount of sugar to his tea and stirred it with a spoon the size of a hand trowel. "So how have you been? It's been a while since I've visited-"

"Yeh've bin busy," Hagrid said, not at all concerned. "An' good, thanks. Up ter my usual business, I s'pose." Hagrid got up and pulled a batch of rock-cakes from the oven and set them down on the table in front of Remus. Fang raised his head hopefully and wandered over to rest his head in Remus' lap, glancing at the cakes every few seconds. "Fang!"

"It's quite all right," Remus said, giving the boarhound a scratch behind the ears. He felt a little nostalgic, but also a little pleased when the dog whined happily; he'd been taught where to scratch dogs, by a dog- He stopped that thought in its tracks and took a hasty sip of tea.

There was a knock on the door. "Hagrid?"

"Do yeh mind?" Hagrid asked, glancing at the door.

"Not at all," Remus said.

"Help yehrself to a cake," Hagrid said, getting up to open the door.

Remus, who had years of experience of dealing with Hagrid's cooking, took one and while Hagrid was fumbling with the lock, cut it with a murmured, " _Diffindo"_ , and fed most of it to Fang while Hagrid wasn't looking.

"How are yeh, Charlie, Tonks?"

"Wotcher, Hagrid," said a girl's friendly voice.

"Good, thank you," a boy said pleasantly. "Are you busy? We thought we might stop by and see how you've been."

"Tha' was nice of yeh!" Hagrid said. His tone turned a little sad. "I've got Remus-"

"Feel free to invite them in, Hagrid," Remus called. "I don't mind."

Hagrid turned and beamed at Remus - who smiled in response - and then stepped back to allow two older students - seventh years if Remus had to guess - inside. The girl tripped on the welcome mat and the boy caught her without any sign of conscious thought. Clearly this happened a lot. The early April sun followed them in.

"Hello," the boy, a stocky redhead in Gryffindor robes - and a Quidditch Captain badge - called with a cheery wave. He crossed the hut and offered Remus his hand. "Charlie Weasley."

"Remus Lupin. I know your parents, I think," Remus said, smiling. He didn't mention that it was only because he had known Gideon and Fabian Prewett - and by extension their older sister, Molly - in the war.

Charlie gestured to the Hufflepuff girl - she was slim with a heart-shaped face and short, vivid yellow hair - beside him. "This is Nymphadora Tonks," he said with a wicked grin.

The girl turned on him, looking annoyed - her hair turned a bright tomato red as if to match her mood - then rolled her eyes and looked back to Remus, seeming curious. "It's just Tonks," she said irritably. Her hair went back to yellow as she offered him her hand. "Nice to meet you anyway."

"You too," Remus said. "Are you aware that your hair just changed colour?"

"My hair?" the girl asked. Her hair began to flash - red, blue, green, purple, orange, pink, black, white and back to yellow again before the cycle repeated. "I'm not quite sure what you mean." Remus smiled and a moment later she smiled back. "I'm a Metamorphmagus," she explained and as she did so her hair grew, became curly, switched to dreadlocks and then returned to the short, spiky style it had been before.

"Impressive," Remus said. Then he frowned. "Did you say Tonks?"

"Yes, and if you call me Nymphadora I'll-"

"You aren't Ted and Andy's daughter?" he asked, wondering how many Metamorphmagus girls of roughly the right age there were with a bizarre first name and a familiar last one.

"I thought I knew you somewhere!" she said triumphantly, drowning out Charlie's, "Ah, rock-cakes! Er... Yum..."

"I went to school with your mother's... sisters," he said, not able to bring himself to talk about Sirius.

"I see," Nymphadora said, looking curious. "Then you would have known Sirius Black."

Remus winced. "I did, yes." He, Sirius and James had used to babysit her, in fact. He didn't say this but he was unable to help himself asking, "Do you still enjoy Potions?"

Her eyes narrowed. "How do you know that?"

Remus ended up telling her that he had babysat her before and ended up recounting one particularly eventful visit; she'd been brewing them potions - sugary water, actually - and James had taken it upon himself to charm them all to show the effects she said they'd have. Remus had ended up with spotty, pink skin and a ridiculously high voice, Sirius with a unicorn's horn and hooves and James himself with cat ears and a tail. The little girl had found it all terribly amusing. She'd then talked Sirius into hiding and taken on his appearance. Both he and James had played along - though they'd noticed immediately that it wasn't him, because when had Sirius ever worn one of Ted Tonks' old football shirts? - until she'd gone back to her usual self.

Charlie was howling by the time Remus had finished and he slopped tea all over himself but hadn't noticed or didn't care. Nymphadora - Remus couldn't bring himself to think of her by her last name, feeling it would be impolite - was laughing too, her hair a pleasant orange that almost matched Charlie's; she'd seemed to recall various parts of the story as they went - she'd been around eight at the time, and old enough to remember. Hagrid had brought a tin of treacle fudge over and was beaming around at everyone as he refilled their mugs. Fang had gone to drool on Charlie.

Remus found himself enjoying himself and feeling lonely all at the same time; on one hand, it was nice to be in such a friendly environment, listing to the friendly banter between the two seventh years but on the other hand, it reminded him all too strongly of when he, James, Sirius, Peter and even Lily had been that age.

A few years could change everything, Remus knew all too well, and he found himself wondering whether the pair opposite him would be safe from life's cruelty, if they'd be forced to live through it - like he had - or if they'd be killed by it - like James, Lily and Peter had been. He didn't let himself think about either of them following Sirius' path. _But Sirius had seemed friendly at seventeen too..._

-()()()()()-

"Just so you know," Padfoot warned, pausing with his hand on the door to Ollivander's Wand Shop, "this bloke is creepy. And he knows... well, everything."

"He'll know who we are?" Harry asked.

"I'd be surprised if he didn't," Padfoot said.

"Shouldn't you wait out here, then?" Harry said, shooting Padfoot a nervous look.

"Nah. Besides, you getting a wand is like you taking your first steps, or saying your first word. I have to be there, it's my job." Harry decided they'd leave if there was any possibility of the man calling the Aurors. "In you go."

Harry stepped into the tiny shop, almost stumbling; he was taller, today, as part of his disguise. Inside was dusty - Harry was well used to dust now - with a counter only a few feet inside the door. Behind that were shelves stocked with thousands of boxes. Padfoot slipped in behind him and closed the door. He cast a doubtful look at the spindly chair in the corner before he sat down gingerly. He sat mostly facing Harry and the counter, but every few seconds his eyes would flick to the window to make sure no one was coming. It was the first time they'd been in the magical world since that night in February and both were a little on edge.

"Good morning," a soft voice said, making Harry start. Harry heard Padfoot suck in a breath behind him and then shift.

"Er... hello," Harry said, looking to his godfather for help.

Padfoot just grinned and mouthed, "I told you."

Harry turned back to the man. He was old, with pale, misty eyes and wispy white hair. Mr Ollivander lifted Harry's hand and examined it. He was yet to blink. "I wondered if I would see you at all, Mr Potter," Mr Ollivander said softly. He turned his silvery eyes on Padfoot. "There are some rather unsavoury rumours going around at the moment."

"We've heard," Padfoot said grimly.

"You have your mother's eyes," Mr Ollivander said turning his attention back to Harry. "It seems only yesterday she was in here herself, buying her first wand. Ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow. Nice wand for charm work." Mr Ollivander let Harry's hand fall. "Your father on the other hand, used a mahogany wand. Phoenix feather. Pliable. A little more power and excellent for transfiguration. I do say he favoured it..."

Mr Ollivander brushed Harry's fringe - blond today - away from his scar. Harry resisted the urge to bat his hand away and flatten his hair. "I'm sorry to say I sold the wand that did this..." he said. "Thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew. A powerful wand, very powerful, and in the wrong hands...if I'd known then what it was going into the world to do..." He sighed and looked back to Padfoot. "Cypress, wasn't it? Fifteen inches."

"And dragon heartstring," Padfoot said carefully.

"Another powerful wand, if in a different way. And not an evil wand, at least not to start with..." He gave Padfoot a piercing look.

"It was never an evil wand," Padfoot said quietly.

"You still have it then?" Padfoot hesitated and then nodded. "May I see it?" Mr Ollivander asked.

"As long as you promise to give it back to me, unharmed," Padfoot said sternly.

"Yes, yes. It was a loyal wand, I seem to remember. I doubt I could resell it even if I wanted to and it would be a shame to destroy something so lovely." Padfoot gave Harry a look and passed his wand to the old man who stroked it and held it to his ear. Everything was quiet for a moment and Harry took the time to contemplate the sanity of the wandmaker and then Mr Ollivander sighed and passed the wand back to Padfoot.

"No, it was never an evil wand," he said with a distant smile. "Well now, Mr Potter. You're here rather earlier than is normal but with you being who you are, I cannot find it in myself to be surprised..." He produced a tape-measure from a pocket in his robes. "Which is your wand arm?"

"Right," Harry said; Padfoot had let him try his wand to perform a few basic charms, though Padfoot's wand was rather unpredictable. Sometimes, it would hardly do anything at all but on other occasions it would enhance Harry's spell significantly, like it had the night they left Privet Drive.

"Hold it out... yes... now stay there."

"Hold on," Padfoot said. He waved his wand and Harry shrank a good few inches, back to his normal size.

Mr Ollivander gave them both curious looks. "That could have made things difficult," he said finally, and then smiled. "It always was a good wand for non-verbal spells." Padfoot nodded. Mr Ollivander brandished the tape-measure and stepped toward Harry again. "I trust your guardian has briefed you on the rudiments of wandlore?"

"Yes, sir," Harry said. "The wand chooses the wizard, right?"

"So you were listening that day," Mr Ollivander said to Padfoot. "I was never sure... Yes, Mr Potter, that is essentially it. Each wand is unique in the same way that each wizard is unique." The tape measure was now measuring between Harry's nostrils and Harry went cross-eyed trying to watch it. A badly smothered guffaw from the corner made glare over at Padfoot. "We use a variety of wand-woods here, and the cores are Dragon Heartstring, Unicorn Hair or Phoenix Feather..."

He continued to chatter as he measured Harry - why the width of the space between his eyes was important Harry had no idea - and then Mr Ollivander stepped back. "That will do." The tape-measure dropped to the ground and coiled up, like a snake. He flitted behind the counter. For a moment, Harry feared he might be going to call the Ministry, but he returned within a few seconds clutching a stack of boxes. Harry relaxed. "Try this one, Mr Potter." Harry accepted a slim, black wand. "Ebony and Unicorn hair. Twelve inches. Precise." Harry thought that sounded like a girl's wand but he gave it a wave anyway.

The inkwell on the counter exploded, soaking Harry and Mr Ollivander. Padfoot was chuckling from his corner. "I don't think it likes me," Harry said.

"That wand doesn't seem to like anybody," Mr Ollivander said, dabbing at his robes with a handkerchief. He gestured for Harry to put the wand down. "Perhaps this one," he said, offering Harry a slightly crooked wand. "Maple and Phoenix feather. Seven inches. Rather whippy." This time, Harry had hardly raised the wand before it was snatched away from him. "Pear and Dragon heartstring. Nine inches. Lithe." This one burned Harry's hand when he tried to hold it. He swore under his breath - in the two months he and Padfoot had been living together, he'd learned some good ones - and handed it back to the wandmaker.

Padfoot seemed to be enjoying himself, watching Harry reject and be rejected by what must have been forty wands. He'd tried every core Ollivander's offered, and at least one of each of the types of wood and he was beginning to feel Mr Ollivander was running out of words synonymous with 'springy'. Harry'd also managed to destroy half the store; he'd set the counter on fire, vaporised one of the legs of Padfoot's chair, collapsed one of the shelves and made a substantial hole in the roof when one of the wands had released what could only be described as a lightning bolt.

"A difficult customer," Mr Ollivander said, growing happier and happier with each rejection. "No worry, we will find you a perfect match... Perhaps something more unusual... Yes, I don't see why not..." He disappeared and returned a moment later clutching a black box. "Holly and Phoenix feather. Eleven inches. Nice and supple."

Harry took the wand. The moment he touched the smooth wood, heat rushed through his fingers and up his arm, but it was pleasant, not like the burning sensation from the pear wand. He also recognised the feeling; it was the same tingling feeling he'd had before he ended up on the roof of the school kitchens, before Mrs Peterson's wig had turned blue, and the same feeling he'd had when he locked all of the doors at home in his first week living with Padfoot. "I can feel it," Harry said uncertainly.

"Give it a wave," Mr Ollivander breathed, hardly visible behind the pile of wand boxes on the counter.

Harry did and a stream of red and gold sparks burst from the end of it and fizzled in the air around him. Padfoot was beaming. "Oh bravo!" Mr Ollivander cried. "Yes indeed. Very good... and curious. Yes, very curious."

"What's curious?" Harry asked, passing the wand back - a little reluctantly - so that Mr Ollivander could wrap it.

"I remember every wand I've sold, Mr Potter. Every single wand. And it just so happens that the Phoenix who gave this feather gave another - just one other. It is very curious indeed that you should be destined for this wand, when its brother, why, its brother gave you that scar." Harry shared a look with Padfoot who looked troubled. "Curious how these things happen... I think it is safe to say we can expect great things from you, Mr Potter. After all, He Who Must Not Be Named did great things too... terrible, yes, but great."

Harry shivered. Padfoot was right. This man was _creepy._ "What did I feel when I picked the wand up?" Harry asked as he paid.

"Your magic," Mr Ollivander said, looking pleased with the question. "Wands are only a medium, after all. A very powerful medium, mind, but a medium nonetheless. They have a magic of their own, but it cannot be harnessed without a wizard. A wizard, however, can have magic without a wand."

Mr Ollivander passed him the brown package that was his wand and bowed them from his shop - though only after Padfoot had re-cast the charm to make Harry taller again.

"That was interesting," Harry said.

"Always is," Padfoot said. "Unwrap your wand. As of now, it goes everywhere with you."

Harry did just that and tucked the wand into the back pocket of his jeans. Padfoot looked like he was going to say something funny but thought better of it. "Where are we going now?"

"Floo Powder," Padfoot said. "There used to be a peddler by the Apothecary but I think that's gone..." They wandered for almost ten minutes before they finally found a stall near the Ice Cream Parlour. Padfoot sent Harry to get ice cream while he bought a bag of the sparkly powder and an owl order address from the peddler. "An owl next, I think," Padfoot said. "Then we're set up for owl orders and we won't need to come out as often."

"I saw an Owl Emporium before," Harry said around a mouthful of his sundae.

"Eeylops?" Padfoot asked.

Harry shrugged. "I think so."

"From memory, that was down the Leaky Cauldron end." Padfoot led Harry down the street and into the Emporium. Harry hesitated, his foot half in the door; it was dark inside, lit only by oil lamps scattered at random intervals and the small amount of natural light that came in through the door. All around them were glistening pairs of eyes, the sound of rustling feathers and quiet hooting.

"Hello, there," a witch said, making her way over to them. "Do you need help or are you happy looking?"

"We're looking for an owl," Padfoot said.

Harry snorted and then ducked, laughing as Padfoot tried to smack the back of his head. "Don't blame me, you said it!"

Padfoot scowled and tapped the top of Harry's head. "They aren't dead at all, are they? They're hiding in there, mocking me."

"Who's dead?" the witch asked, looking worried.

"Er... My last owl," Harry said, hurriedly assuming a stricken expression. Padfoot choked.

"Oh, I'm sorry, love," she said, patting his shoulder. She shot Padfoot a dirty look for laughing. Harry nodded, trying to look miserable. "I know it's hard losing a pet... they'll always have a special place in your heart though, and I've always found it's best to ease the pain by finding another pet to keep you company."

"Yeah... er... that's what I was hoping," Harry said. "And I've always liked owls."

"So have I," the witch said. "I've always found them to be intelligent creatures, much smarter than cats or dogs - or Merlin forbid, _toads_ \- and much more practical. Muggles seem to think dogs can carry newspapers, but I've yet to see it." Padfoot growled quietly. The witch gave him a funny look. "Can I get you a drink, sir?"

"No," Padfoot said. "You could show us the owls though. That'd be great."

"Are you looking for anything particular?" the witch asked.

"An owl," Harry said, with a sly look at his godfather.

"He's off to Hogwarts this year," Padfoot lied, nodding in Harry's direction.

"Oh, enough said," the witch said brightly. "You'll be sending packages and letters regularly, I'd imagine?" Harry grinned, nodding. "You'll need something strong, then," the witch said, tapping her chin. "Something from our larger range..." She clicked her tongue in thought and then smiled. "We've got a few eagle owls," she suggested. "They're popular among the purebloods."

"Yes, I know," Padfoot said tersely. "I'd prefer something a little different." The witch looked curious about his reaction. Harry tried to think of an excuse, but Padfoot beat him to it. "His last owl was an eagle owl," he murmured to the witch, tilting his head in Harry's direction.

"In that case," she said hurriedly, "we have great horned owls. They're a little rarer."

Padfoot shook his head. "They scare me," he said. "Something about the eyes... they always look like they're frowning." Personally, Harry had nothing against horned owls but he said nothing. It was a shared owl, so they should both agree on it.

"We sold our last barred owl on Monday," she said frowning. "And we don't get any more until next week." Her eyes brightened. "Do you know what, though? We do have something a little rarer if you're interested."

"What?" Harry asked.

"We've got a snowy owl in at the moment. She's only young but some people like them better that way, since they're easier to train."

Padfoot and Harry shared a look. "Can we see her?" Padfoot asked.

"Of course." The witch led them through the shop, occasionally shooing one of the free roaming birds out of her way, until they reached a slightly brighter section. There were a number of younger owls - even some cages set up with nesting mothers - and they found the owl sitting imperiously on a perch at the back.

Harry would never have guessed she was a snowy owl; she was grey, and every picture he'd ever seen had shown snowy owls as white. She was covered in an uneven coat of downy grey feathers, though her wings were speckled with black and white. Her golden eyes turned on them, almost haughtily, and Harry almost had to laugh at the way her demeanour contrasted her motley appearance.

"She's certainly different," Padfoot said, looking amused.

"She'll be stunning when she loses her baby feathers though," the witch said. The owl clicked her beak as if agreeing.

"Can she fly?" Padfoot asked.

"Of course."

"That's all that matters, then," Padfoot said, shrugging. He turned to Harry. "What do you think?" The owl nibbled his finger and rubbed her beak against his hand. Padfoot smiled. "How much?"

"Ten galleons," the witch said.

"For an owl?" Padfoot asked, arching an eyebrow.

"She's a rare breed," the witch said.

"Fair enough," Padfoot said, fishing in his pocket for the coins.

The witch helped them find a cage that would still be large enough for her when she'd finished growing, and talked Harry - since Padfoot had got bored and was now poking an irritable-looking barn owl - through the basics of caring for her. They also bought some Owl Treats that the woman said would help with training.

They left the shop and all three of them blinked in the daylight. "Let the owl out," Padfoot said. Harry did and she hopped out and perched on Padfoot's shoulder. He had a quick look around and, once he'd ensured there was no one around said, "Tell her the home address and have us meet her there."

"Can't you?"

"Not if you want her to find it."

It took Harry a moment to realise what he meant. Then he nodded. "Okay, er... Could you meet us at Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place?" Harry felt rather silly but the owl hooted once and took off, her wing clipping Padfoot's nose.

"Excellent." Padfoot shrunk the cage and tucked it into a pocket. "She would have been a pain to carry around," he explained. Harry nodded. The headed up the street again. Harry had thought they were going to the bookshop but apparently educating him in the matters of Quidditch was higher on Padfoot's list of priorities; he was quite literally dragged through the door by his eager godfather.

Inside was larger than Harry had expected. It was brightly lit, and brightly decorated. One wall - the one that included the storefront window - had broomsticks of every size and make mounted to the reddish wooden panelling that was consistent throughout the entire store. The second wall was dedicated to equipment - large red balls that Padfoot called Quaffles, black ones called Bludgers and tiny Golden Snitches, as well as heavy wooden Beater's bats, gloves, goggles, boots and every type of padded, protective gear ever to exist.

The other two walls were dedicated to the Quidditch league, with large team banners, team posters and posters of individual players. On shelves below these were books - either about the teams or about individual players - and various merchandise; there were common things like hats, scarves, badges of every shape and size and figurines and there were also autographed robes, bats and balls.

Padfoot dragged him over to a display table by the counter, where little plastic figurines were flying over a scaled down pitch. "See him? The one hovering in the middle?" Harry nodded. "He's the Seeker..." Padfoot set about explaining the rules of the game. It was easy enough to follow, Harry thought, and he was keen to try it, though he wasn't sure when he'd get the chance.

"Sorry, love," a middle-aged woman said, stumbling over a container of broom-polish.

"S'okay," Harry muttered absently, still watching the little figures.

"And you wonder where Dora gets it from," a round-bellied man told her affectionately.

The woman harrumphed and for a moment looked quite intimidating; she was tall with grey eyes, brown hair and high cheekbones. The man - her husband, Harry decided - winked. The woman's face softened entirely as she smiled.

"Hey, kid, come have a look at these," Padfoot called. He was standing by a broom display, pointing at a barrel of golden balls.

"Are they Snitches?" Harry asked, reaching for one.

Padfoot caught his hand. "Don't touch one unless you're buying it," he warned. "They've got flesh-memories and the last thing anyone wants is a Snitch that doesn't recognise them." Harry put his hands in his pockets so he wouldn't be tempted to touch. Padfoot laughed at him. "You're definitely your Mum's."

"What do you mean?"

"James would have begged to buy one by now."

"I thought you said Dad played Chaser?"

"He did, but he played Seeker too; he was a Seeker to start with though because there were no Chaser positions available when we were second years. From third year until sixth he played Chaser and then in seventh he went back to Seeker."

"Why?"

"Davey Gudgeon was the year above us - played Beater until his third year and then there was an incident with the Whomping Willow and his hand-eye coordination wasn't good enough for Beating so he took up Seeking instead."

"Incident with the Willow?" Harry repeated.

"It's a tree at Hogwarts. There was a game trending through our second year to see who could get closest... we Gryffindors always excelled, of course, but Gudgeon nearly lost an eye. It stopped after that..."

"Lost an eye?!"

"The tree hit him," Padfoot said, shrugging. "Very messy."

"Isn't Seeking harder than Beating? I mean, the Snitch is smaller."

"Yes, but the Snitch isn't trying to hit you. If you miss a Bludger though and it flies into you..." Harry winced; earlier, he'd seen one of the figurines hit by a black ball the size of a ball-bearing. The figurine had lost an arm (though Padfoot had assured him that was an exaggerated effect and the worst that really happened was a fracture). "Anyway, Prongs played Seeker when he left because no one else could - the only one interested was a first year and everyone knows firsties can't play."

They drifted over to look at broomsticks - Padfoot was curious about how they'd improved in the last seven years. The woman who'd tripped over earlier was there with her husband; "I still think we should get her the owl," she said, inspecting a sleek broomstick.

"Dromeda, I'm telling you, she'll want the broom, not a bird. Besides, she's already got that ruddy cat-"

"Yes, Ted, but what's a broom going to help her with?" the woman said, dodging another display. "Owls are practical-"

"Dromeda, she studies hard. She'll have to if she's ever going to be accepted by the D.M.L.E.." The woman nodded. "We should get her something _fun_."

"This is why you're the favourite," the woman said accusingly.

"Of course," the man said. "It wasn't _my_ idea to name her Nymphadora..." Padfoot's head snapped up and his face drained of all colour. The woman shoved her husband, laughing. "Excuse me?" A shop assistant appeared. "We'd like to order a Comet two-sixty."

"Excellent choice," the man said, grinning. "We're out of stock for the moment, unfortunately, but we'll be getting some in on the sixteenth-"

"That's fine," the woman said smiling. "As long as it's ready to put on my daughter's bed by the twenty-fourth-"

Harry didn't hear the rest; Padfoot grabbed him and dragged him behind a shelf stacked with broom compasses. "You know them?" Harry guessed.

"The woman's my cousin," Padfoot said. Harry took another skeptical look. He didn't think she looked like Padfoot at all except for maybe the eyes, but then, he didn't resemble Dudley. They waited until her back was turned and then slipped out of the shop door and blended in with the holiday crowd.


	8. Chapter 8

It was always cold and windy in Azkaban, Draco thought grumpily, as he tried in vain to smooth his hair down. He, Mother and Hydrus stepped away from the rusted key that was their Portkey and headed up the narrow stone path that wound up the side of the cliff face.

At the top of that there was a big, grey archway that marked the edge of the prison - Draco had been daunted by it the first time he came but it no longer scared him at all - and then the path split into three.

The left headed off to the rows of cells, where Draco hadn't ever been before; Mother never let him go and Hydrus didn't want to, the right path went to the guardroom where Mother said they kept the prisoners' things - Draco hadn't been there either - and the middle path went to a big, grey stone building.

At either side of the entrance were Dementors. They were the only thing in Azkaban that wasn't grey, and they wore big black robes with a hood and made Draco feel awfully cold no matter how many layers he wore.

The inside of the building was grey too but it wasn't windy and the Dementors weren't allowed inside. Draco liked it much better. There was a big rusty gate that led to the rest of the building but Draco knew from previous visits that the guards had to let them in.

Mother rang a little bell that hung from a lamp fitting and then they waited - Hydrus shivering and tightening his travelling cloak compulsively, Mother looking at her nails and then her hair and Draco trying to copy Mother by looking at his own nails - until footsteps approached and a tall, blond guard appeared on the other side. His robes were black like a Dementor's.

"Hi there," he said.

Mother gave a twitch of her lips that wasn't a quite a frown but was close. "I was expecting Ernest."

"He wasn't feeling well," the guard replied. "Went home about an hour ago. Who're you here for?"

"My sister. Madam Lestrange," Mother said.

"Let me grab my cloak and I'll be right out," he said.

"Right out?" Mother asked.

"To take you to her cell," the guard replied, looking puzzled.

Mother's expression soured slightly. "Did Ernest not tell you about the visiting procedure?"

"Visiting procedure?"

"Ernest allows Bellatrix and I to meet in one of the interview rooms."

The guard frowned. "That's not prison policy, Mrs-"

"Malfoy," Mother said, arching an eyebrow.

The guard paled slightly but said, "Mrs Malfoy, we don't allow prisoners to leave their cells. You're more than welcome to visit your sister but-"

"And what of my sons?" Mother asked. The guard frowned at Draco and Hydrus, as if he'd forgotten they were there. Draco frowned back. "Are you suggesting I allow them to be exposed to the other prisoners? To the Dementors?"

The guard let out a noisy breath. "Bloody hell," he said.

"Watch your mouth around my children," Mother said coolly.

"Sorry. Look, since you've got your kids, I'll make the exception, but just this once, and just 'cause it's Easter."

Mother smiled politely and he let them through the gate and further into the building. He said something to one of the guards - several of them were sitting around a large table playing Exploding Snap while Mother looked on in disgust - and then turned back to them and said, "Jordan and Carrow'll bring her in."

"Alecto," Mother said, looking surprised as one of the guards - a woman Draco noticed, and an ugly one at that - stood.

"Mrs Malfoy," the woman replied, bobbing her head. She followed the other guard, a dark-skinned man out through the gate.

"Follow me," their guard said. "Room Four's free."

"Thank you," Mother said. "Keep up," she called to Hydrus and Draco.

"I don't even want to see Aunt Bella," Hydrus muttered.

Draco glanced ahead to make sure Mother wasn't listening and said, "Neither." Aunt Bella, to put it simply, was mad, and rather scary.

The guard unlocked a door with a tap of his wand and let them inside. Mother settled herself on the only chair in the room and began to look at her nails again. "Where are we supposed to sit?" Hydrus asked the guard.

The guard looked at them stupidly and then muttered something about going chairs. He left the room. "Not very bright, is he?" Draco asked. Hydrus sniggered. "I mean, what's the point of being a wizard if you never use your wand?"

"A Mudblood for sure," Mother said dismissively. They waited in silence and then the door opened and the woman Mother had greeted before walked in, followed by Aunt Bella. Aunt Bella was a tall woman with tangled black hair, hooded eyes and a heavy jaw.

The left sleeve of her prisoner's robes was torn - as always - so that she could show off her Dark Mark. When the guards showed signs of staying, Mother folded her arms, wearing an expression that unnerved even Father.

"Are we not entitled to our privacy?" she asked, arching an eyebrow in a way Draco could not yet manage.

The male guard frowned at her. "It's not safe-"

"This is my sister," Mother said, incredulously. The guards shifted uncomfortably. "I have my wand," she said with a pointed look in their direction. They shuffled out and Mother cast a Silencing Charm on the room as soon as the door clicked shut, and then she tucked her wand into her pocket and hugged Aunt Bella.

Hydrus went next and then Draco - who noticed she smelled like rocks and sweat and dead things - and then they sat.

"You look more and more like your father each time I see you," Aunt Bella said, staring at the space between Hydrus and Draco. They exchanged an uncertain look.

"Thank you, Aunt Bella," Hydrus said finally.

"A good looking man," Aunt Bella said, crossing the room to look more closely at Hydrus, "your father is. He's not much use for anything else, unfortunately, but Cissy's always gone for looks rather than practicality."

"Enough," Mother said in a sharp tone.

Aunt Bella pinched Hydrus' face between her thumb and a bony finger and twisted his head to better see it. "You've got your Mummy's eyes," she said, staring at him. "And her nose. I never could manage to turn mine up the way she can."

"Bella," Mother said warningly.

"Relax, Cissy," Aunt Bella said, releasing Hydrus as she tottered over to Draco. He sat very, very still. "I'm just getting reacquainted with my nephews' faces. Dementors are bad for the memory, you know." She gave a mad little laugh and seized Draco's face, her unkempt fingernails digging into his cheeks. He resolved to have a bath the moment he arrived home.

"You look like Daddy too," she said. Draco gave her a weak smile, not sure what to say. "With Mummy's smile!" Aunt Bella exclaimed. "I suppose yours is just as rare..." She made a tsking noise and her dark eyes met Draco's grey ones. "You know, those could almost be Black eyes."

"Black eyes?" Draco dared ask as Aunt Bella let him go.

"My eyes." Aunt Bella's eyes were a dull, dead grey. Draco shivered and fervently hoped not. "Regulus' eyes, but you probably don't remember him. I don't suppose you've ever met Andy or Sirius?" Both Draco and Hydrus shook their heads. "They've got some self respect at least," Aunt Bella commented.

"Of course."

"How _is_ Andy? Still married?"

"I wouldn't know," Mother replied.

"You went to her wedding, didn't you?"

Mother's cheeks turned a pale pink. "That was years ago, Bella."

"But you still went."

"I had to see if she was happy," Mother answered, staring at her hands.

"If marrying a Mudblood is the cost of happiness, I'd rather be miserable," Aunt Bella said primly. "I suppose it doesn't really matter if Andy's happy or not anymore." Mother didn't say anything. "And Sirius?" Aunt Bella continued. "Has he been caught?"

"No, but he's bound to slip up, and when he does, Lucius-"

"Bound to slip up?" Aunt Bella cackled. "Our tricky little cousin?"

"Well, yes, he's mad-"

"Mad?" Aunt Bella asked. "Oh, no, he's not mad. I had the cell two away from his for three years, remember? Everyone else would scream all through the night, but no sound ever came from his cell, except for a whispered name in his sleep but there was nothing mad about it, I assure you. They had to move him to a different cell," she said, her lip curling, "one with more Dementor exposure and even then..."

"They say he served the Dark Lord," Mother murmured.

Aunt Bella snorted. "Him?" she asked derisively. "No, Cissy. I don't know what happened with the Potters, but it wasn't our dear cousin that did it." Mother stared at her hands, which were clasped neatly in her lap. Aunt Bella remained on her feet. "Has there been news?" she asked after a slight pause. Her voice was breathless, excited.

"Nothing," Mother said.

Aunt Bella's face fell slightly. "He's alive, Cissy. I know He is."

"You've said so before," Mother said gently.

"Yet you still don't believe me! Why don't you believe me, Cissy-" Aunt Bella asked plaintively.

"There's no proof," Mother said curtly.

"Have you looked?"

"For what, Bella?" Mother asked.

"Anything."

"There is nothing," Mother said. "Not even rumours to suggest He even exists. If there were, Lucius would stop at nothing-"

"Lucius," Aunt Bella sneered and then opened her mouth again but Mother was quicker.

"Don't you dare insult my husband!" Mother snapped. Draco almost smiled; whenever Father said something rude about Aunt Bella, Mother defended her just as vehemently.

"And why not?" Aunt Bella demanded. "What has he done, Cissy, for our Master?"

"Your Master," Mother said quietly.

"Excuse me?!"

"I said He's your Master, Bella, not mine," Mother said loudly. "I never took the Mark."

"But-but you want him back, don't you?" Aunt Bella asked. Suddenly, she looked like the younger sister, even though Draco knew she was a year older than Mother.

"Of course I do," Mother said, getting to her feet suddenly. She began to pace. Draco and Hydrus exchanged a look, having never seen her so agitated. "But think, Bella! The name Malfoy has always garnered respect from the Wizarding community but it's at an all time high. Lucius has power over the fools at the Ministry and is perfectly placed should anyone hear anything about the Dark Lord's location. If he were to be caught serving the Dark Lord - who may or may not even be alive - he would lose everything."

"The Dark Lord rewards those who are dedicated-"

"At the moment, there is no Dark Lord!" Mother cried, stopping in front of Aunt Bella. "And until there is, until we can be certain, I will not throw everything we've worked so hard, and lied so hard to get!" Aunt Bella looked like she'd been slapped. She sat down in the empty seat and Mother sat down in hers. "How is Rodolphus?" Mother asked after a tense pause.

"Still in the cell next to mine," Aunt Bella said dismissively.

"And Rabastan?"

She gave a careless shrug. "Couldn't say."

"And how have you been?" Mother asked. Aunt Bella shrugged again. "Here," Mother said, passing Aunt Bella her wand.

Aunt Bella took it, a peaceful expression settling on her face. She gave it a wave and conjured a set of colourful, glowing lights.

"I've missed my magic," she whispered, reaching out with one claw-like hand to touch one of the lights. She waved Mother's wand again and they vanished. She seemed to struggle for a moment and then reluctantly passed the wand back. "Thank you." Mother inclined her head as she pocketed it. Aunt Bella sighed noisily and said, "And thank you for this too, Cissy."

Mother gazed around the interview room and inclined her head again. "I still hate the thought of you trapped in here, Bella, you know that. Anything I can do to make it easier-"

"It's not supposed to be easy," Aunt Bella replied. "It's a sacrifice, Cissy, and He will know what I have given for Him, that I am His most loyal, most faithful-"

Mother got to her feet and went to hold Aunt Bella's hands. "I know He will," she said softly. "I just hope it's worth the price."

-()()()()()-

Harry held out a piece of bacon. The owl - he and Padfoot had named her Hedwig - accepted it with a hoot and let him detach the _Prophet_ from her leg. Harry unrolled the paper and scanned the front page, stroking the owl with his other hand; she was still quite downy but her head was now more white than grey.

His eyes widened and Hedwig hooted indignantly when the petting stopped. "Apparently I'm dead," Harry told the stirring, sleeping-bag-encased lump that was Padfoot.

"Oh?" Padfoot said sleepily, trying to flatten his tousled hair.

"They're holding a memorial service at Diagon Alley for me tomorrow morning."

"What's the date today?"

"Sixteenth," Harry said, checking the paper by-line.

"Exactly two months," Padfoot mused. "Does this mean they've stopped looking?"

"No, Lucius Malfoy's still recruiting on page three. He's paying for any information and offering a thousand galleons to anyone who finds us."

"Bastard. Now we'll have all the lowlifes looking too."

Harry sighed and turned the page. "Oh, wait, I can't be dead; it says here we were at last night's Cannons game."

"Ooh! Who won?"

"Not the Cannons," Harry said, apologetically.

"Damn," Padfoot said, looking unsurprised. He yawned again and stumbled over to join Harry at the table. "What's for breakfast?"

"I made bacon and eggs," Harry said.

"I could go for eggs," Padfoot admitted, glancing at Harry's half-full plate.

Harry shielded his breakfast with an arm and used the other one to point at the stove. "Get your own." Hedwig stole a lump of bacon off his plate, clicked her beak and flew across the room to perch on the mantel.

Padfoot chuckled. "Do you want tea or juice or anything?"

"Juice sounds good," Harry said hopefully. Padfoot flicked his wand and a bottle of juice came soaring out of the pantry to land in front of Harry. Glasses from the cupboard followed half a second later. "Thanks," Harry said, pouring himself a glass. "Do you want one too?"

"Yes, thanks," Padfoot said, his voice muffled; he'd retrieved a fork and was eating straight from the fry-pan.

Harry sipped his juice and flipped the page. "The Minister's retiring early," Harry said. Padfoot came to read over his shoulder.

"End of the month," Padfoot murmured. "Bet the Ministry loves that; they've only got a week and a bit to choose a successor." He made a face. "The _Prophet_ needs to get their priorities straight. The Minister's retiring and yet the front page is dedicated to us. Poor Bagnold's been shunted to page seven and doesn't have as much as a photograph to thank her for nine years of hard work."

"Was she a good Minister?"

"About as good as they come. Cornelius Fudge is going to be a joke."

"Who?"

"That's who the papers say'll be next," Padfoot said, grimacing as he tapped the article. "Him or Dumbledore and Dumbledore won't take the position."

"Do you know Fudge?"

"I did. He was with the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes when James and I were going through the Auror Training Program. Nice enough bloke but he's... I dunno... just... I wouldn't have picked it."

"Who do you reckon it should be, then?" Harry asked, scraping the last few scraps of egg onto his fork.

Padfoot thought for a moment. "All I know of the current Ministry is what's been in the papers these last three weeks," he warned. "But I'd have to say either Kingsley Shacklebolt - he's an Auror and an old Order member - or Amelia Bones... They'd never be picked though."

"Why not?"

"Too young. Kingsley went through a few years before I did. He graduated at the end of my third- wait, no, he was with Gid and Fab... end of my fourth year," he amended. "He spent a few years travelling and then came back. We did the Auror Training Program together. Amelia was the year below us... she went through with Marlene, Frank and Alice."

"More Order members?" Harry guessed. Padfoot nodded. Harry opened his mouth to ask about them but from the grim set of Padfoot's mouth knew it could be nothing good. He sipped at his juice instead.

The two headed upstairs (after Harry coaxed Kreacher into doing the dishes) into what had been the dining room. Padfoot had shrunk the table and chairs and put them in the dresser for safe-keeping, effectively clearing the floor space. He'd also added Cushioning Charms to the walls, windows, floor and ceiling to absorb any stray spells that they might need to cast.

In one corner was a cauldron and a bookcase, loaded with potions ingredients and various books on spells and brewing. Harry hoped it would be wand work today; in the week or so he'd had his wand, Padfoot had been teaching him less history and less potions and had been trying to teach him basic charms and the theories behind them. He thought, a little dejectedly, that he was probably overdue for one of the less interesting lessons.

Padfoot, however, said, "Can you light up your wand for me?"

Harry drew his wand; this was one of the first spells Padfoot had taught him and he was fairly confident about using it. " _Lumos_ ," he said. A bulb of light flashed out, illuminating the room in blinding white. Harry flinched. " _Nox!_ " The light vanished and the lamps on the walls extinguished.

Padfoot re-lit the lamps with a wave of his own wand. "Not bad," he said. "Try for a bit more control though. Less light, and hold it."

Harry nodded. " _Lumos_ ," he said again.

"Dim it down," Padfoot yelped, covering his eyes.

"Sorry, sorry!" The wand tip dimmed slowly until it was emitting a faint white glow.

"Better," Padfoot said approvingly. "Now, try to put it out without doing the lamps."

Harry grinned sheepishly. " _Nox_ ," he said. The light disappeared.

"Excellent," Padfoot said. "Could you feel the difference?"

"Er... no," Harry said. "But I could see it."

Padfoot chuckled. "Fair enough. There's another charm - _Reparo-_ "

"The fixing one?" Padfoot had done that so many times since they moved in that Harry was fairly sure he could mimic the incantation and wand movement perfectly.

"Have you tried it?" Harry shook his head. "Go on then."

"There's nothing to fix in here."

"Rubbish," Padfoot said, glancing around quickly. " _Diffindo,_ " The curtains severed and fell in a dusty heap. "Fix that," Padfoot said while Harry laughed.

" _Reparo,_ " Harry said tentatively. There was another puff of dust but nothing more.

"Say it like you mean it," Padfoot told him. "You don't ask magic to do things. You _tell_ it to."

" _Reparo_ ," Harry said. The curtains fixed themselves back together but there was a large line - like a scar - where the cut had been.

"Not bad," Padfoot said. He severed the curtains again and had Harry practice until he could manage it consistently, though it still left a scar. "We'll go over the theory behind that later," Padfoot told him, unconcerned. He was quiet for a moment, apparently deciding what to teach Harry next and then said, "Have you heard of _Finite Incantatem_?"

"Didn't you cast it on that coat-rack that tried to punch you...?"

Padfoot grimaced. "Basically, it'll undo or end a spell."

"Any spell?"

"No. Some are resistant by nature, some are resistant by design. It doesn't work very well on injuries or on potion induced effects either but it's still damn useful... I think the best way to teach you this one, is to teach you some basic jinxes at the same time."

Harry looked up, excited. "Jinxes?"

"I was thinking you could practice on Kreacher," Padfoot said. Harry laughed, a little tempted – Kreacher had been rather foul lately - but shook his head. "I thought as much," he said wryly. "I'm prepared to sacrifice my own short term well-being in order to give you a living target."

"I don't want to jinx you!" Harry thought that would be a very poor way to repay Padfoot for everything he'd done so far.

"I'm not going to be teaching you anything nasty; these are jinxes and very mild hexes." Padfoot grinned mischievously. "When we move onto real hexes, we'll definitely be using Kreacher."

They were there for the majority of the day. Harry tried a Tickling Hex, a Jelly-Legs Curse, a Finger-Twitch Charm that made it very difficult for an opponent to hold their wand, a charm that made opponents dance and one that locked the opponent's legs together. He had no luck with the Tickling Hex or the Jelly-Legs Curse but he picked up on the various Binding spells and on the Reversal Charm quickly.

"Good," Padfoot wheezed as Harry removed a charm that made opponents cough uncontrollably. "Better than before." Padfoot conjured himself a glass of water and sat down on the floor.

"Is that it?" Harry asked, flopping down next to him. He brushed his sweaty hair out of his face and pushed his glasses up. He hadn't been moving around much at all, but his arm ached from holding his wand up and he had the beginnings of a headache.

"One more," Padfoot said, standing.

Harry groaned and stood up. "Which one?"

"Your choice." Padfoot let his hands fall down by his sides and took a deep breath. "Whenever you're ready," he said wincing slightly.

" _Petrificus Totalus_ ," Harry said. Padfoot stiffened and swayed. Harry felt a little smug that he'd managed it first time. There was a muffled thump as Padfoot hit the Cushioning Charms on the floor. " _Finite Incantatem_ ," he said.

Padfoot stretched and pushed himself into a sitting position. "Good," he said. "Stronger that time."

"How can you tell?"

"It's tighter. Weaker body binds are elastic; they give a little if you push and some even break if you can get your magic between you and the spell. That one had less give than the others, less space for me to get my magic in."

"So you could have broken that?"

Padfoot hesitated. "Yes, I could have, and so could any Auror or Hit Wizard." Harry's face fell. "We'll work on it though," Padfoot promised. "Give it a few more weeks and we'll have it strong enough that not even Dumbledore himself could break free of it." Harry gave him a doubtful look.

"Wandless magic'll still break it, but wandless magic'll break almost anything," Padfoot said. "Body-Binds are simple. Simple in principle and simple in execution. They aren't hard to get right."

"Wow, thanks," Harry said with a grimace.

Padfoot smiled and ruffled his hair. "You're already better at jinxes than I was at eight. Andy didn't teach me until I was ten." He smiled a little sadly. "When you get to Hogwarts, you'll be advanced for your age, I have no doubts of that. Until then, though, you're a kid in a world of adults, and no matter how good you get, they've got more experience, more control and more power than you're going to have for the next few years.

"I don't want you hurt because you're overconfident. Better that you're wary and surprise them with a well-placed jinx than you going in, wand blazing, thinking you can beat them all. I've been there, done that and trust me, it'll only work once." Padfoot stood and winced, rubbing his back. "Can you be bothered cleaning tonight?"

"I suppose," Harry said shrugging as he tucked his wand into his pocket. "Which one?"

Since they'd moved in, Harry and Padfoot had fixed and cleaned two bathrooms, the kitchen, the library, one of the bedrooms on the third floor - despite this, both were still sleeping in the kitchen - and the training room. "Reg's room, I think," Padfoot said. "We can get you settled in properly."

Harry beamed, excited at the prospect of having his own room. It wasn't that he particularly minded camping in the kitchen with Padfoot but he'd never had a bedroom before. His excitement petered out a moment later; he'd only been in Regulus's room two or three times but he knew it was very large and very, very dusty and was probably going to take a considerable amount of time to clean.

Padfoot glanced out the window at the sky; it was a pale purple and getting darker by the minute. "Kreacher." CRACK! "We're going to head upstairs in a moment. Could you have dinner ready for us in about an hour-" Padfoot glanced at Harry. "- _please_?"

Kreacher's bloodshot eyes flicked between the two of them and he appeared to choke on an insult - Padfoot had forbidden him from saying anything rude, though he still managed on occasion - and then he vanished with another CRACK!

Padfoot turned to Harry. "I'll race you upstairs," he said, grinning.

"What? Now?" Harry asked as the shaggy, black dog dashed out of the room. "Cheater!" Harry called after him. "Kreacher!" CRACK! "Can you Apparate me upstairs? To Regulus' room." Harry asked. "Please?" Kreacher gave him a peevish look but held out his bony arm without complaint. "Thanks," Harry said, grasping it.

The room distorted. He was being tugged, stretched, condensed and twisted all at once and then Regulus' dark room materialised around them.

"Thanks, Kreacher," Harry gasped. The elf cast a fearful look around the room and vanished without another word.

"I beat you!" he heard Padfoot shouting from out on the landing.

"Beat me?" Harry asked, pulling open the door. Padfoot whipped out his wand, swearing all the while and then slumped when he saw Harry standing there, staring at him in awe. Even Uncle Vernon hadn't had such a comprehensive vocabulary.

Padfoot scowled. "You're not to use any of those words or I'll _Scourgify_ your tongue. And how did you get up here? You were behind me!"

"Kreacher," Harry said, grinning.

"And you call me a cheater," Padfoot grumbled, walking into the room. He waved his wand and the lamps on the walls lit.

Harry stared. The room was bigger in the light, and all the more ominous; the lights were casting distorted shadows on the walls. The dark green curtains were moth-eaten but effectively blocked all but a thin beam that shone onto a painted Black family crest.

Below that was the bed, perfectly made with a dull grey cover and matching pillows. Harry stared around; the slightly open wardrobe revealed meticulously folded clothes and the desk and bookcase were neatly organised.

"Very neat, Reg," Padfoot said, following his gaze.

"You're one to talk," Harry said, his voice almost a whisper.

Padfoot grinned. "I'm neat, but Reg is another thing altogether." He picked a frame off of the bedside table and wiped it with his sleeve. "That's him there," he said, nodding at a thin boy surrounded by his green-clad teammates. Harry thought he could have picked him; Regulus had the same dark hair, grey eyes and proud look as his brother.

Next to that photo was another frame, silver again. It showed Padfoot and Regulus, both in their Hogwarts robes with a man and a woman behind them. The four of them were standing on the staircase, with the elf heads beside them.

After a moment Harry was able to recognise the woman as their mother, though quite a few years younger than she was in the portrait downstairs. She had a proud but not overly pretty face and with them standing next to each other, Harry could see a lot of her looks had gone to her younger son. Padfoot - who looked about sixteen - looked a lot like his father; tall, well-built and handsome.

Orion and Walburga Black took turns smiling proudly at Regulus' green and silver tie, and scowling at Padfoot's red and gold one. Padfoot was scowling too, looking very much like he'd rather be somewhere else, but even as Harry watched, Regulus gave him a little nudge and a small smile.

The photograph-Padfoot smiled back as if he couldn't help himself and flung an arm over his brother's shoulders. Both boys laughed and grinned at the camera while Mr and Mrs Black watched disapprovingly.

"You were close, weren't you?" Harry asked, setting the photo down.

"He wasn't ever as much of a brother to me as Prongs and Moony were, but he was more than Peter was, even before I knew Peter was a spy... so yes. We were very close growing up but then I became a Gryffindor and he was a Slytherin and he started sitting with Bella and Cissy instead of me at family functions."

"But you still got along?"

"Better than you'd think. It wasn't always easy - more often than not I wanted to hex his Slytherin arse - but we managed. I stayed in contact with him after we left school which is saying something, I suppose. Some of the Order didn't like that very much but James talked them around." He sighed and gave the photo a sad smile. "You can do the newspaper clippings, if you'd like. I'll tackle the desk."

Harry sat down on the edge of the bed and was instantly surrounded by a cloud of dust. "Argh!" he choked, his eyes watering.

"Oops," Padfoot said. " _Exsugo_." He held his wand over the bed like Harry had seen Aunt Petunia hold her hoover over the kitchen floor. What was left behind was faded green bedding and pale silver pillows. "Better?"

Harry sneezed again but nodded and Padfoot crossed the room to the desk and began to rifle through. Harry turned his attention to the wall. "They're all about Voldemort."

"Yeah," Padfoot said, scowling as he torched scraps of parchment with his wand. "That's not all of them either - I ripped them all down when I was fourteen and tore them into tiny little pieces."

Harry scanned the walls and shivered. _Man Disappears, Family Found Dead, Mysterious Wizard Gathering Followers_ were common titles. Others were more specific.

"Anything interesting?" Padfoot was leafing through a huge book titled _Nature's Nobility: A Wizarding Genealogy._

Harry squinted at the faded clippings. "This one's about the deaths of a Mr and Mrs Smith. One about Helen Meadowes and Alexander McKinnon and two about Dorcas Meadowes - one about a messed up assassination and one about her death-" Harry checked the dates, "-about a month later."

"Dorcas," Padfoot said softly.

"You knew her?"

"Of course. She was in the original Order with me and your mum and dad. Voldemort tried to kill her but someone tipped Dumbledore off and he moved her in time. She died a month later. Voldemort killed her personally."

"I'm sorry," Harry said. Padfoot shrugged. "Her sister disappeared at the same time. Helen, is that right?"

"It must be. She wasn't a part of the Order so I never met her. She died too?"

"Vanished, it says here."

"Just like Dearborn," Padfoot murmured.

"They found her partner's body. It says here his name was Alexander McKinnon."

Padfoot sighed heavily. "I remember Alex. I remember all of the McKinnons."

"All of them?"

"Alex had a brother – Simon – and a- a sister. Marlene. Curtis and Patricia were their parents. Curtis was killed, then Alex and then the rest of them died just after your first birthday..." He shook himself. "What else is there?" Harry read the next article and froze. "Harry?"

"Mum and Dad," Harry whispered.


	9. Chapter 9

"What?" Padfoot said, dropping Nature's Nobility which landed with a thud. "That's not possible! Reg died first!"

"Not that. Something about an attack on their home," Harry said.

"On Potter Manor?"

Harry nodded. "A few days after Alexander McKinnon's body was found, according to this."

"That's right," Padfoot whispered. "Merlin, we were so lucky."

"What happened?"

"Reg came over. We fought about something, I don't remember what - it probably wasn't important." Padfoot smiled guiltily. "I was in such a foul mood I spent the rest of the day throwing furniture around my flat. Prongs and Moony were worried because I hadn't been answering their firecalls.

"I shouted at both of them when they showed up, so Moony set about making tea and James left and came back a moment later with you - you were only a few weeks old - and Lily." He smiled. "You could always cheer me up... all of us, actually. You and the Longbottom boy were always brought to Order meetings, partially because no one trusted babysitters and partially because you were both so happy all the time... you reminded us what we were fighting for.

"Anyway, your mum and dad were just about to leave – Peter was supposed to be visiting - when Dumbledore showed up on the verge of tears and said there'd been an attack on the Manor and they were missing. Lily comforted him - poor bloke just about died when he saw them sitting in my living room - and James alternated between making jokes about the whole thing and discussing which hexes to use on the bastards when he next saw them."

"So what happened?"

"You stayed at my flat with Remus while James, Lils, Dumbledore and I went back to the Manor and packed up your things. Dumbledore moved you into one of the spare teacher's rooms at Hogwarts and you lived there until you moved to Godric's Hollow."

Harry nodded. _And we lived there until Halloween_ , he finished in his head. "It's strange."

"What is?"

"To hear about all of this. Even though I was _there_ , I was too little to remember anything-"

Padfoot picked up the copy of _Nature's Nobility_ and waved it at him. "Of course you were; you were only this big." Harry stared at the scrap of paper which had just fallen out of the book. "Are there any other articles?"

"Not about them," Harry answered. "What does that paper say?"

Padfoot frowned and retrieved it. "Another newspaper clipping. ' _Double Arrest: Father and Son attack Ministry Official',"_ he read, his face scrunching up and then frowned and lobbed the book into the rubbish bag, but he kept the clipping and stared at it for a few more moments. "My mother probably used it as a bookmark."

Padfoot offered it to him. Staring back at him was a rather scary looking man with a thin face, thick, matted hair and dark eyes that looked in opposite directions. He bared his teeth - or the ones that were left - at Harry and lunged for whoever was holding the camera. Two wizards stepped forward to restrain him. In the background, clinging to a dilapidated house, shouting and making rude hand gestures, was an older man who looked a bit like a monkey. Harry had to hide a smile when he saw Regulus had circled the hand gesture.

Padfoot had retrieved _Nature's Nobility_ and was flicking through it carelessly. He read a page in silence and then snorted. He flicked to a page closer to the end of the book and passed it to Harry. "Here. You might find that interesting."

 _The Potter Line_ , proclaimed golden letters at the top of the page. Harry sank onto the bed, entranced and traced the red, silver and black coat of arms with shaking fingers. Around the edges of that were golden words that formed a triangle.

"Padfoot?"

Padfoot was frowning at the clipping about the arrest. "Hmm?"

"What does 'Aut viam inveniam aut faciam' mean?"

"It's about the only Latin I know," Padfoot said with a wry smile. "'I'll either find a way or make one' is the rough translation. It suited James perfectly, I assure you." Harry smiled and re-read the words several times to commit them to memory and had a quick read of the Potter family's history.

"Are we keeping it?" he asked when he was bored.

"The book? Nah, we've got about five in the house." Harry lobbed it into the rubbish bag and went to join Padfoot by the desk. "Could you sort through these?" Padfoot asked.

"What do I do with them?"

"If they sound interesting, keep them. If not..." Padfoot jerked his thumb in the direction of the rubbish bag. Padfoot, still holding that paper clipping, wandered over to sit on the bed and look at the articles there.

Harry sat down amidst a pile of books. _Past Ministers: the Infamous and the Inspiring_ went into the rubbish bag, but the rest of the books were fairly interesting. _Moste Potente Potions_ looked complicated and rather dark - the pictures in particular made Harry cringe - but there were some useful sounding potions in it.

Regulus, for whatever reason, had marked the page of one called 'Dementor's Draught' which forced the drinker to relive their worst memories and also acted as a slow poison - the drinker would live for up to a year with general lethargy, recurring nausea and frequent mood changes unless treated. Some even died from it. The book offered no remedies, however. Harry wrinkled his nose and set that one aside; they'd keep it, he decided, but he'd be happy if he never needed to read it again.

There was also _An Advanced Guide to Protective Wards_ which had no specific pages marked but had obviously been read a number of times; the spine was creased and the edges of the pages were soft and rounded with wear. There was a box-set of _Applications of Defensive Magic_ , but only the volume on dark creatures had been read; the others were all in pristine condition.

"Harry?" Harry glanced up. "Is there a book there on wizarding artefacts over there with you?" Harry shifted _Traces and Auras: See The Magic Around You_ and grabbed a book thinner than the others in the pile, titled _History's Most Magical Wizarding Artefacts._

"This one?"

"Yeah, I thought I saw that. Flick through. See if you can find me an ugly ring with a black stone."

Harry opened the book and scanned the contents. "Er... there's Morgana's ring. It has healing properties, or something."

"Nah, that's not it."

"That's the only ring," Harry said. "As far as stones go... there's the Philosopher's Stone and the Resurrection Stone."

Padfoot shook his head. "The article says Marvolo Gaunt thought his name and his ring would protect him. Are you sure there's no Peverell ring in there?"

"Pretty sure," Harry said apologetically. "You can check-"

Padfoot shook his head again. "How about Slytherin's ring?"

"Slytherin only had a locket," Harry said, opening to the locket's page.

Padfoot made a face and held up the clipping of the old Gaunt making hand gestures. "I thought Reg had circled the ring," he said. Only then did Harry notice the man was in fact wearing a ring, just as Padfoot had described; ugly with a black stone. "It seemed like something he would do. More so than him circling the hand gesture anyway. Maybe we were more similar than I ever thought-"

CRACK!

"Dinner!" Padfoot and Harry exclaimed happily as Kreacher appeared, holding two bowls of soup.

"French onion?" Harry asked hopefully, setting the book aside.

Kreacher bobbed his head. "Kreacher knows the brat is partial to it."

"Thanks," Harry said, accepting a bowl and a spoon from the elf.

"I've told you not to call him brat," Padfoot growled. Kreacher froze. "Call him Harry or Master."

"I don't mind," Harry said, trying to avert another round of pointless bickering. Padfoot rolled his eyes. Harry glanced at Kreacher, but the elf didn't look back; he was staring at the book next to Harry, the one with the picture of the locket, and wearing a horrified expression. "Kreacher?"

Kreacher made on odd shrieking sound, shoved the second bowl at Padfoot and Disapparated. Padfoot waved his wand at the spilt soup. "Mad elf," he grumbled. Harry was inclined to agree.

Kreacher was elusive after that. Weeks passed and April became May and even then he rarely spoke, even to insult them, and he spent the majority of his time skulking around in the drawing room on the first floor, polishing the cabinets and mumbling to himself.

"He's cracked," Padfoot was prone to saying, every time either of them poked their head in to check on him.

Kreacher would mutter, "The family mustn't know, oh no," and became increasingly hysteric if either of them asked too many questions.

Padfoot's room– which hadn't been cleaned for almost thirteen years – was taking much longer; they'd uncovered a nest of doxies there – Harry had been bitten and spent two days in bed while Padfoot fussed over him – and a set of robes in the wardrobe – which had been a prank present from James - were supposed to hug the wearer but had tried to strangle Padfoot instead. He'd set them on fire in retribution.

Aside from that, however, things were going well. They'd finished cleaning Regulus' room and replaced the old curtains, quilts and pillows with new ones - red mostly - and Padfoot had repainted the walls - the same white as they had been - so no traces of the Black family crest remained. Padfoot had even duplicated a Gryffindor banner from his old room - which they were in the process of cleaning - and hung it above Harry's desk with the promise they'd change it if he wasn't made a Gryffindor.

Harry's lessons were also going well. Padfoot had covered some history, going over Dumbledore's fight with Grindelwald and also the war against Voldemort. Harry had also had some success with potions; he'd made a cure for boils properly after three attempts, he'd made a potion that induced babbling for an hour, a basic sleeping drought and a simple colour-change potion that acted similarly to muggle hair-dye; Padfoot had sported bright blue hair for days after Harry slipped it into his afternoon cup of tea.

Harry, who knew his godfather had a good sense of humour and had done much worse during his school days, had expected a laugh and a half-hearted reprimand. Instead, Padfoot had beamed and taken him out for ice cream as soon as the potion wore off.

Harry had also been getting better with the jinxes and minor hexes Padfoot had taught him. His Body-Bind was quite strong and he had managed to perform a half-decent Tickling Hex; Padfoot had immediately tried to teach him the more complex Tickling Charm, which Harry was absolutely hopeless at.

Padfoot had also taught him a very simple Soap Spell - a more manageable spell than the _Scourgify_ Padfoot was always threatening to use if Harry swore - that was useful for cleaning - since Kreacher wasn't cleaning at all - and a Polishing Charm so that he could help around the house. The house itself was coming along, though slowly.

"So how do I do it again?" Harry asked.

"Hold on." Padfoot kicked his sleeping bag, though he hadn't been using it - since they'd cleaned Regulus' room up, Padfoot had been sleeping as a dog at the end of Harry's bed - away from the hearth. "All right, so, you take a handful of Floo Powder, throw it in the fire and then say where it is you want to go. Keep your eyes closed and try not to fidget too much."

"Okay," Harry said. He was a little nervous about travelling through fire, but he was also eager to try it.

"It's easy," Padfoot said. "I learned when I was about four. Just be very clear about what you're saying. I'll see you in the library."

Harry nodded again. Padfoot grinned and held the little pot out to him. Harry took a handful and tossed it in the fire. The flames flared green. Padfoot nodded. Harry stepped into the grate and immediately breathed in a mouthful of hot ash. "Lib-ra-ar-ry," he coughed. Padfoot made a grab for him but Harry was already being pulled.

He was spinning and the fire was roaring around him, blinding green and hot, but it wasn't burning him. He squirmed and knocked his knee against something hard, and then his elbow. _How long is this going to take_? Harry wondered. Surely getting upstairs should only take a few seconds.

Suddenly the green was gone and he was falling; he threw his arms out in front of him to stop his fall and felt his left wrist crack. His glasses flew off his nose. Tears sprung into his eyes, blurring his vision more than usual and he sat up, cradling his hand. He was still very dizzy and his knee and elbow hurt but they were nothing compared to his throbbing wrist. His ears were still ringing.

"Hey, kid! Are you all right?!"

"I hate the Floo network," Harry muttered, wiping his eyes. Then he froze. That wasn't Padfoot's voice. And the library was carpeted, not hard wood. He wiped the last of the tears away and looked around. He was in a dark, smoky room filled with people. The roaring sound was still there, but now Harry realised that was people talking. Some part of him recognised the Leaky Cauldron. "This- this isn't the library," he heard himself say. And then what had happened sunk in. He hurriedly smoothed his fringe down to hide his scar and, upon finding them, stuffed his glasses into his pocket.

"Do you think he's concussed?" Two pairs of hands pulled him to his feet.

"How am I supposed to know?" a girl asked. "Ron, go get Mum."

"You get Mum!" another boy's voice answered.

"Don't worry about it," Harry said quickly, unable to see them without his glasses on, but unless he was going mad, he thought he could see a lot of red. "I'm fine."

"Then why are you holding your wrist?" the girl challenged.

"I'm fine," Harry said again. "I'm going to be late."

"Where are you going?" one of the boys asked.

"To meet my...er... dad."

"Where is he?"

"Florish and Blotts," Harry said. "He's... er... picking up my... er... school books. Mum sent me to help him."

"Are you going to Hogwarts?" the girl asked wistfully.

"Er... yeah, start this year," Harry said.

"Us too!" two of the boys said in unison. Harry winced. "What House?"

"Dunno," Harry said. "I really have to go though. Thanks again."

"Bye," the girl and one of her brothers said.

"See you at school," the other two said.

Harry, still cradling his wrist, managed to find his way to the door and out into the little courtyard that led to Diagon Alley. As soon as he established there was no one there he jammed his glasses back on, pulled his wand out, checked his pockets for money - he had a sickle and a few knuts - and evaluated his options.

He didn't know how to open Diagon Alley - both times they'd come, Padfoot had done it - or he probably would have gone to ask Mr Ollivander for help, but asking someone else to open it would draw attention to him. He could Floo back but he wasn't feeling overly confident with that, and, as Secret Keeper, it probably wouldn't do for him to be shouting their home address to the crowded bar. That left muggle London. He would have to walk; a sickle wasn't going to get him very far at all amongst muggles.

Harry reluctantly put his wand away, pulled the hood of his jacket up so it covered his face and ducked back into the bar. Three red-haired children were telling their plump mother about a strange boy and the Floo. The girl looked up as he walked in but he carefully avoided eye contact and she looked away again. Unfortunately, in his attempts to appear inconspicuous, Harry collided with another redhead who was coming out of the bathroom.

"Oh, it's you," the boy said. He was short and chubby - maybe a few inches smaller than Harry - with a long, freckly nose, blue eyes and bright red hair. He looked to be about Harry's age. "Weren't you meeting your dad? And where'd you get glasses?"

"Er..." Harry cast a fearful glance over his shoulder.

The boy's eyes widened. "I know who you are!"

"Shh!" Harry hissed. He stuffed his wand in his pocket and dragged the boy into a corner.

"I thought you were dead!" the boy exclaimed.

"Shh!" Harry said again.

"Sorry," the boy whispered. He looked at Harry. "This is so weird!"

"I was never here," Harry said, desperate. "Please!"

"All right," the boy said. "Don't get your wand in a twist."

"Thanks," Harry said, relieved.

"No problem." The boy hesitated and then held out his hand. "I'm Ron. Ron Weasley."

"Harry Potter," Harry said softly and let go of his wrist to shake it.

"Are you hurt?" Ron asked, glancing at his wrist.

"I'm fine," Harry said.

"I could ask- Mum's just over there if you want-"

"It's fine," Harry said again. "Really."

Ron glanced at his wrist again but didn't say anything more on the topic. "Why are you here?" he asked instead. "Did you escape?"

"No," Harry said a little coolly. "I got lost in the Floo."

"My brother George did that once," Ron said with an easy grin. "Fred was doing his nut. I thought he might marry the little old witch that brought him back, he was so happy."

"Who're-?" Harry asked, momentarily distracted from his own troubles.

"My brothers. They're over there." Harry had a surreptitious look over his shoulder at the twin boys sitting at the table with their mother and sister. The sister kept glancing in their direction, nervously, but every time Harry met her eyes, she turned around again. He was just grateful she had the sense to stay quiet. Ron frowned suddenly. "Are you really going to Hogwarts this year?" he asked. "Or did you just say it so we'd leave you alone?"

"I-" But Harry never got to answer. A woman at the bar turned around curiously and spied the pair of them. She looked at him for a moment and then her eyes widened and she let out a shriek and slopped her drink all over herself.

"It's Harry Potter!" she screamed.

Harry threw Ron an apologetic look and bolted. He made it out onto the street but what seemed like half the pub had followed. "Wait, Potter!" one witch was shouting.

"He's mine!" screamed a wizard.

Harry had never been so scared in his life. He ran past a muggle couple and was almost hit by a woman on a bicycle as he bolted across Charing Cross Road. He couldn't even get to his wand because he was supporting his wrist.

"Potter!"

"Did someone- Harry?" a man in torn jeans asked as he ran past. Harry ignored him, but he heard the man start to run too.

He ducked down a side street between a shabby inn and a Chinese restaurant and then around another one, which took him to a high walled courtyard behind a bar. He glanced down two alleys trying to guess which one would get him out of there and in the end headed left; his followers had their wands out and were trying to stop him.

Harry felt fear twist his insides as he turned another corner, but there was something else there too, besides fear. Something warm, something alien yet familiar all at the same time. _Magic_ , Harry realised. _But how am I supposed to use it_? Accidental magic had always been just that; accidental.

"Potter, come here!" bellowed a woman.

Harry gathered the magic he could feel building and prepared to use it. " _Stupefy!_ " one wizard shouted.

He was forced to turn another corner and ran straight into a rubbish bin. It fell over with a loud bang and Harry landed on his wrist again with a shout of pain. His magic vanished. He heard footsteps and fumbled for his wand but couldn't get it before a pair of torn jeans walked into his line of sight and a sandy-haired man knelt down beside him. "Are you hurt?"

"No," Harry lied. His good hand wrapped around his wand. The man made a noise that might have been amusement and tapped Harry's left arm with his own wand. Bandages wound around his wrist and tied themselves neatly. "Thanks," he muttered.

"He's got him!"

Harry let go of his wand and let the man help him to his feet. As soon as he was standing, the man stepped between him and the crowd. Harry reached for his wand again.

"Who threw that Stunner?!" the man who'd helped him demanded.

"That's Harry Potter!"

"I know bloody well who it is!" the man shouted back at them, sounding annoyed. "And he's been the victim of this whole Sirius Black mess, not the perpetrator, so I'll thank you not to throw spells at an eight year-old!" Harry didn't wait to hear the rest. The man seemed sufficiently distracted, and so did the others so he slipped down another side street and took off running again. His wrist didn't hurt nearly as much as it had but he was still worried about getting home.

He followed the alley to a busy street that Harry thought was Shaftesbury Avenue. He pulled his hood up again and slipped into the crowd. Aunt Petunia had always told him to stay where he was if he got lost but he was fairly sure that advice was only useful if the person looking for him had a vague idea of where he was. Besides, if Padfoot couldn't find him, neither could the other witches or wizards.

He walked a short distance from a young, dark-haired woman - close enough that anyone else would mistake them for family, but far enough away that it wouldn't unnerve her - the way he'd used to do when he was younger; he'd liked to pretend he wasn't related to the Dursleys, if only for a few minutes.

He wasn't quite sure where he was going and he wasn't thick enough to start asking for directions to Grimmauld Place, so he just walked, trying to put as much distance between him and the Leaky Cauldron as possible.

-()()()()()-

 _He's alive, he's alive, he's alive, he's alive_ , Remus sang to himself, even as he shouted at the people who'd attacked Harry. He knew that Harry was alive of course, because the Department of Magical Records had not reported his death, but that had done little to allay Remus' fears. _He's alive, he's al-_

"He's gone!" one witch screeched. "You let him get away!"

Remus turned and swore. "Harry!" he called, ducking down a sidestreet. Harry was nowhere in sight. Remus ran a hand through his hair, agitated and sniffed the air. There was a faint smell of fear, determination and something that was almost James, almost Lily and almost Sirius but was none of them, lingering down a street to his right. He followed without hesitation and came out on a busy muggle road.

The scent was harder to track here, with more people, but Remus reasoned he couldn't have gone far yet and had to be around somewhere... _Children..._ Remus thought, glancing around.

There was a blond boy standing with an old man that appeared to be his grandfather, a dark haired boy trailing a little girl with pigtails - for a moment Remus thought it might be him but the boy's hair was too flat - another boy was waiting by a bus-stop, but he was too chubby... Remus thought with a pang, of Peter. Another boy bumped into him and stopped to say something - an apology, he thought - before hurrying after a woman who Remus presumed was his mot- _Hold on._

The boy had his hood up - which drew attention to start with - and was holding his wrist at an odd angle, as if it was sore. Remus was fairly sure the clothes were the ones Harry had been wearing, and the woman he was walking near was not walking as if she had a child.

She wasn't glancing in his direction every few moments, or holding his hand, or even making any indication that he was there at all. She didn't look angry, either, as if they'd had a fight and so was ignoring him. The boy took a wary glance around and Remus saw glasses flashing beneath the hood.

 _Found him_. Remus hurried after, unwilling to scare Harry into running, but he wasn't prepared to lose him either, and Sirius could show up at any moment. Until Sirius did show up, though, Harry wasn't in any immediate danger and he was likely to lead Remus all the way to where they'd been living.

-()()()()()-

Harry's 'mother' vanished into a bakery so Harry picked another parent figure - a short, balding man, this time - and followed him instead. This man walked almost all the way down the street and then wandered into a telephone box. Harry pressed on. He wasn't sure how long he'd been walking but he found himself on Charing Cross Road again, and he was fairly sure he knew his way from there to Kings Cross Station.

He joined the end of a line of school kids who'd just got off a bus. The teacher was talking to one interested boy at the front but everyone else was talking amongst themselves and no one seemed to notice Harry. He threw his hood off - their jumpers were a bright blue and his jacket was green but it was close enough.

He followed them until they stopped at Bedford Square and then continued past. "Hey, kid!" he heard. Harry ignored it and kept walking. "Potter!" His head twitched in the direction of the voice before he winced, realising he should have just ignored it. A large man appeared next to him and grabbed his upper arm with a hairy hand. Harry tried to prise the fingers off. "None of that, now," he said. "You're gonna buy me a new house."

"I've only got a sickle," Harry protested, struggling.

The man snorted. "Malfoy's got a bit more'n a sickle for anyone that brings 'im you."

"Let me go," Harry said.

"Nuh uh."

"Let go!" he yelled.

"Is everything all right?" a woman with a large handbag asked, giving them a strange look.

"I warned you we'd go home if you weas naughty so don't pretend to be surprised." Harry tried to twist free but couldn't. "If y'don't stop fighting, I'll tell your mother! I" the man shouted. "And she's already gonna be plenty mad at you for gettin' hurt!" Harry blinked. The woman seemed appeased and walked away. "Now, stop making such a scene," the man said in a low voice. He pulled Harry down a dim sidestreet and started to reach for his wand. Harry twisted free, and this time it worked. He didn't stop to ponder his good luck though, and took off at a run. "You little berk!" the man bellowed. " _Pedis Offensio!_ " Harry stumbled and fell. His wrist twinged.

He was hauled roughly to his feet by his bad arm. His other arm, however, was free. He grabbed his wand out of his back pocket and cast the first spell that came to mind, not caring that is was a cleaning spell. " _Saponum!"_ Large, glossy bubbles formed in the man's mouth and stung his eyes. He cursed, using a word Harry'd never even heard Padfoot use and Harry managed to get free again. He ran down another narrow alleyway, around a corner, and skidded to a stop in front of a dead end wall.

-()()()()()-

Harry was reasonably good at not drawing attention to himself. Remus had almost lost him a while back, at least until he spotted the green jacket in the midst of all the blue ones. The school Harry had been walking with vanished into a large park and then a man appeared and grabbed Harry's arm.

Remus tore his wand out of his pocket - Harry was struggling and looked frightened which was a good enough incentive for him to blast this very large, very hairy man back to wherever he'd come from- and then a woman was in the way. Remus lowered his wand. She exchanged words with the pair and moved away, giving him an odd look as she passed.

The man dragged Harry into an alleyway. Remus' heart was in his throat. He broke into a run but something - approaching from the other direction - beat him there.

It was a dog. An enormous bear-like dog with shaggy black fur. He froze, but it didn't seem to have noticed him. Remus forced himself to move faster. He ran around the corner, almost losing his footing - in... bubbles? - and continued down and around another corner-

There was a loud BANG, like a car backfiring and the alley exploded; Remus was thrown off his feet, his wand landing several yards away. The man holding Harry was thrown into a wall. The walls themselves were trembling and dust and chunks of grey brick rained down. Harry himself was unharmed, but he was looking around warily, wand out.

And then Remus saw _him_ striding calmly toward James and Lily's son. Sirius. The man who had ruined everything. The man who had destroyed his entire world in a matter of hours. The man who had destroyed it _again_ only a few weeks ago. He was thinner than Remus remembered, but not as thin as he'd expected, or as dirty. He was cleanly shaven, his hair was washed and he was dressed not dissimilarly to Remus in jeans and a shirt. His expression, however, was murderous. Remus reached for his wand.

"Oh, thank Merlin," he heard Sirius say as he reached Harry. Harry was pulled into a tight hug - one that he appeared to be returning - and then Sirius let him go.

"How-?" Harry asked, weakly.

Sirius said something in a low voice and the only word Remus caught was 'creature'. Sirius knelt to check on the man he'd attacked. Remus almost had his wand - his fingers were brushing the smooth wood of its handle - and neither Sirius or Harry knew he was there. Sirius checked the hairy man's pulse, Summoned an old pizza box from a rubbish bin by the wall, tapped it once and after a flare of blue light, the man vanished. _A- a Portkey?_ Remus wondered and then shook his head.

Sirius turned back to Harry and frowned. "What happened to your wrist?" Remus heard Harry say something about the Floo and held his arm out for Sirius to look at. Remus lifted his wand, and then Sirius said, "Moony."

His head snapped up just as Remus Disarmed him. Harry jumped and gave Remus a betrayed look. "Moony," Sirius said again, urgently, moving in front of Harry as if _Remus_ was the threat. "Moony, please." The name sent daggers through him, a thousand times more painful than any full moon. "You don't understand," Sirius said.

Remus opened his mouth to say the spell that would kill Sirius but what came out was, "How did you know it was me?"

"You always do a funny little bow on your bandages," Sirius said, never breaking eye contact. "Moony-"

"Don't call me that!" Still, Remus made no move to actually attack. His hand seemed frozen, his wand trained on Sirius's heart.

"Remus, then. Please. I know what you think and you're wrong. It wasn't me. It never was. It was Peter-"

"Don't talk about him!" Remus shouted. "You're a traitor-"

"Peter was the traitor!" Harry yelled. "He killed my parents!"

"Sirius killed your parents, Harry, not Peter. Peter's dead. Sirius killed him and he's going to try to kill yo-"

Harry stepped out from behind Sirius and put himself between the two adults. "I've been living with Padfoot for months," he said, holding Remus' eyes with his own eyes, eyes that were so much like Lily's, "and I'm fine. He isn't trying to hurt me, he's-"

"Get out of the way, please, Harry," he said, trying to get a clear shot at Sirius.

"No," Harry said.

"Harry, move."

"No," Harry said again.

That's what did it; Harry, Harry who looked so much like James standing in front of Sirius, to _protect_ him, as if Sirius wasn't responsible for everything that had gone wrong in both Harry and Remus' lives, as if he wasn't responsible for the deaths of Lily, James and Peter. " _Dormio,_ " he murmured, and flicked his wand in Harry's direction. It was regrettable, but he couldn't risk Harry getting in the way of something more sinister.

He saw that Sirius recognised the Sleeping Spell – of course he would recognise it; he and James had used it to get Remus to sleep after full moons - and didn't act to move Harry out of the way. It was for the best, and he seemed to realise that. _I think he cares for him on some level at least_ , Remus thought, and wasn't quite sure how to feel about that.

Harry's eyes widened - he looked utterly terrified, in fact - but he didn't move. He winced as the spell was about to hit him- but the pale blue light fizzled out inches from his chest. Remus' eyes widened. _What's Sirius been teaching him?!_ Sirius, however, looked just as shocked. _Accidental magic, perhaps_ , Remus thought, glancing at Harry who now looked determined. _But why's he protectin-_ Sirius made a dive for his wand.

Remus shot a Stunner at him but it missed, deflected by some unseen force. _Harry_ , Remus thought tiredly. Sirius's hand closed around his wand. Remus shot another spell at him, a Disarmer this time, but Sirius rolled out of the way. Remus slashed at the air, sending spell after spell at his old friend but none made contact.

"Moony, _please_ just listen," Sirius panted.

"Don't call me that!" Remus said, throwing another hex. Sirius sought cover behind an overturned rubbish bin. "Coward," Remus spat. He was forced to block a spell from Harry - a Body Bind - and then a more pressing Disarmer from Sirius. He sent Sirius into hiding behind another rubbish bin with Binding spell, sent sparks in Harry direction as a distraction, and then stepped around effectively backing Sirius into a corner. _Finally._

"Moony," Sirius said, eyes wide as Remus sent his wand flying. "Please."

" _Petrificus Totalus!"_ he heard from behind him. He blocked the spell easily but the distraction was enough. A blur of black fur streaked between his legs, knocking him over. Harry had retrieved Sirius' wand and held it out to him. Sirius transformed, his fingers closing around his wand and Harry threw his arms around his waist. CRACK!

Remus sent a Stunner at the place where they vanished but he was too late. The red sparks exploded on the alley wall. Remus spun, growling in frustration and came face to face with two men. Aurors, if the round, golden badges they wore chained to their robes were any indication.

"Where's Harry Potter?" one of them demanded. "The Trace said he was here."

"You've just missed him," Remus told them curtly. "Sirius Black took him. Again."

The pair exchanged glances. "We're going to have to ask you to come with us," said the one with yellow eyes.

"What for?" Remus asked, tucking his wand into his pocket.

"We've spent the last hour following his Trace all over this side of London and yet somehow, you're here, before us..." The one with blue eyes prodded Remus in the chest with his wand. "How's that possible? Are you working with Black?"

"Excuse me?" Remus asked, his eyes narrowing dangerously.

"What my colleague is try-" the yellow-eyed man began but he never finished; Remus crossed the distance between them and punched him square in the face.


	10. Chapter 10

"Oi, Draco! Look!" Hydrus shouted as his broomstick went whooshing past.

"Yes, you're very fast," Draco said, rolling his eyes as he returned to his book.

"Faster than you!"

"Are not!" Draco said, indignant.

Hydrus swooped one of the peacocks which squawked and ran away, feathers ruffled. "Stupid bird."

"Mother told you not to do that," Draco said, shifting against his tree.

"I'll race you," Hydrus said, ignoring that last comment.

"My Comet's upstairs."

"Then go get it, prat." Hydrus was hovering now, though he was still a fair way above Draco, with one hand resting on a tree branch.

"Father said not to use that word." Hydrus ignored that too and waited for a proper response. "I'm reading," Draco told him as he turned a page. "Do shut up and leave me alone."

"I want to race," Hydrus said, frowning.

"I told you; I'm reading," Draco repeated.

"You're just scared you're going to lose," Hydrus said.

"I am not! I just don't feel like it right now!"

"Baaawwwk!" Hydrus said. "Bawk, bawk, baaawwwk! Chicken!"

"You're the one flapping your arms," Draco pointed out.

Hydrus stopped at once. "Come and race me," he whined.

"No," Draco said, adopting an equally whiny tone.

"I'll tell Father!"

"You wouldn't disturb him." Draco turned another page.

Hydrus landed lightly beside him. "I'll do it," he said.

"Fine." He was bluffing and they both knew it. Father had sent them outside because he was busy and they had specific instructions not to bother him.

"Come race," Hydrus said, stomping his foot.

"No." Draco had to duck as his brother kicked a chunk of grass at him. Leaves followed that, and then Hydrus' left trainer. "I said no!" Draco shouted, on his feet now. He dodged the right trainer, threw it back and then Hydrus threw his broomstick. Draco bolted then, before he could find anything heavier, and sought shelter in the branches of a tree in the courtyard. Hydrus appeared a moment later having reclaimed his broomstick, though not his shoes; his socks were covered in mud.

 _I hope he forgets and trails mud all through the Manor_ , Draco thought darkly, staring down at his brother. Hydrus poked his head through the double doors that led back inside and then shrugged, climbed back on his broomstick and zoomed out of the courtyard and back to the main part of the grounds. _Thank Merlin_ , Draco thought, though he made no move to climb down. _Maybe I'll just stay here..._ He opened his book and skimmed through, trying to find his page again - he'd had to close it fairly quickly. He'd just settled against the trunk when a loud, brassy clang echoed out through the courtyard door. _Brilliant_ , Draco thought darkly.

The upstairs hall window, which was only a foot or so above him flew open and hit the outside wall with a bang that almost made Draco fall out of the tree. "Boys!" Mother called. Draco sat very, very still. "Draco? I saw you come in. Where are you?"

Draco swallowed. "Here," he called.

Mother looked down at him, surprised. "What are you doing in a tree?"

"Reading," Draco said weakly, holding up his book.

Mother watched him for a moment and then smiled slightly. "Dobby's busy with me up here," she said. "Would you answer the door, please?"

"Yes, Mother," Draco said obediently, trying not to look annoyed. _Stupid Dobby. He should be able to leave Mother for a few minutes and do what he's supposed to._ He scrambled down, wandered inside through the double doors and then through more double doors into the foyer.

"Why couldn't they Floo, whoever it is?" Draco grumbled. He knew the answer though. One did not Floo in to or out of the Manor without Father's leave; the fireplace was charmed to reject anyone who didn't have the right password. Said password changed with Father's whims, and bothered Mother incredibly; Draco had personally seen three occasions in the past year where she'd said an outdated password and been spat out by the fireplace. Father had slept in the guest rooms those nights.

The bell clanged again as he passed a portrait of his great grandfather Casius Malfoy. Draco wrenched the door open. "Yes?" he said. Severus Snape was standing on the doorstep, ready to tug the bell cord again. Draco's eyes widened at the sight of his godfather. "Sorry! I didn't realise it was you, sir, or I wouldn't- Sorry!"

"One apology was sufficient," Severus said, sweeping past him into the foyer.

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir," Draco babbled, closing the door.

"What are you reading?" Severus asked, waving a hand at Draco's book.

" _Magical Theory_ ," Draco said holding it up.

"Waffling's book?"

"Yes, sir."

"A good book," Severus said, nodding his approval. "Informative, but not overwhelmingly so if memory serves."

"Yes, sir."

"Is Lucius home?"

"Yes, sir."

Severus gave him a look that might have been one of amusement. "Your vocabulary seems rather limited today, Draco."

"Yes-er-I-" Draco felt his cheeks heat. "Sorry."

"No matter," Severus said, smiling ever so slightly. "Would you take me to see your father, please?"

"Yes, sir." Severus was definitely smiling now. "I think he was in his study." Draco led him up the hall, through the double doors on the right and up another hall. "Father?" Draco called, knocking on the elegant wooden door.

"I thought I told you not to bother me, Draco," Father called back sharply.

Draco looked to Severus for help. "Might I have a word, Lucius?" Severus said.

The door opened. "Leave us, Draco," Father said. Severus nodded a goodbye and followed Father into the office.

 _I'm the one that let Severus in,_ Draco thought, scowling. _I should be allowed to hear._ Smiling, Draco stomped down the hall and then tiptoed back and pressed his ear to the door.

"...arrested." Severus was saying.

"And I suppose it expects me to pay its bail," Father said sounding amused. "Brandy?"

"No, thank you."

There was a clink as Father poured himself a glass and then he said, "I won't pay a knut. The Lupin monstrosity can rot for all I care."

"He was released this morning," Severus said bitterly. "All the charges were dropped."

"Two weeks in office and Cornelius Fudge has already blundered."

"I have no love for Fudge but I wouldn't call Lupin's release a blunder, given the circumstances."

"Circumstances?" Father asked. His tone made Draco shiver.

"It was Rufus Scrimgeour he punched. I daresay most people have had the desire to rearrange his face - the man is utterly incorrigible - but Lupin had also managed to gain custody of the Potter boy, according to witnesses."

"Had?"

"No doubt you've seen this morning's paper."

"I'm aware the boy was spotted in the Leaky Cauldron. He ran out-"

"-and was found by Lupin if Dumbledore is to be believed," Severus said.

"Indeed?" Lucius said so softly Draco hardly heard.

"The Ministry's trying to keep it quiet."

"Which means it'll be in the _Prophet_ first thing tomorrow morning," Father said, his voice dripping contempt. He sighed. "I assume Lupin lost the boy."

"He escaped and was re-claimed by Black."

"We wouldn't even need to rely on inconveniences like Lupin if the Ministry would just let the Dementors look, but they can't, of course... not when they might attack the Potter boy instead." His tone, which was angry when he was talking about the Dementors, dwindled into a sigh when he was talking about Potter. "He's probably no safer with him anyway, and at least a Dementor would be capable of subduing a nine-"

"Eight."

"Pardon?"

"The boy is eight. Like Draco." Draco froze at the sound of his own name. Father was quiet for a long time, long enough that Draco began to worry that they had realised he was there. He was just about to move when Father cursed.

"I'd hoped to have nothing to do with Lupin," he said. There was another clink. "That was the point of giving him reign over muggle London."

"Clever of you," Severus said.

"I can't claim credit," Father said sourly. "He asked for the position." Severus said nothing. "Still, he's determined to find the boy which suits my purposes and he's promised to bring the boy here, should he be recovered."

"I'd have thought he'd take him to Dumbledore." Draco thought Severus sounded surprised but he couldn't be sure.

"I won't have the boy in that old fool's custody," said Father, disgusted. "If Harry Potter is what we think he is, having him near Dumbledore is just as bad as having him near Black..." Mother had told Father what Aunt Bella said about Black not serving the Dark Lord and Father had gone from disliking Black, to loathing him. "The Ministry are no better." He was quiet for a bit and then, "Where was Lupin last you heard?"

"Going back to his cave or whatever it is he calls home," Severus said venomously. Draco'd never heard his godfather talk that way and it scared him. "For all we know, last night's events were staged and he's off to meet up with Black."

"Still going on about that, Severus?" Father asked.

"Lupin would forgive Black's treachery in a heartbeat if he thought it would let him get to know Potter's son," Severus said scathingly.

"Pettigrew was the traitor." His tone became rather pointed. "Though with how things turned out, I'd almost believe he betrayed us too."

"Perhaps," Severus said sounding annoyed. "But Black's was the betrayal that mattered in the end. He must have been feeding information to the Dark Lord with myself and Pettigrew. And, Black was the Secret Keeper. Potter was too proud to trust his life to a worthless little worm like Pettigrew-"

"Worthless?!" a shrill voice said angrily. There was a loud thump, like a chair being knocked over and a yelp of pain. Draco pressed his ear closer to the door.

"Put that away, Severus," Father said impatiently.

"You seem to have something of a vermin problem," Severus said stiffly.

"Now, now," Father said, amused. "Is that any way to speak about old friends? Why don't you tell him what you've just told me?"

Draco jumped as a third voice spoke. "Sirius never betrayed anyone. _I_ was the Secret Keeper," a man's squeaky voice said.

" _You?_ " Severus snarled.

"Severus, sit _down_ ," Father snapped. "You're not still sore about Potter's Mudblood, are you?"

"Of course not," Severus said coldly. "Merely surprised. It's not every day a dead man shows up. If you qualify for a man." There was a cry of outrage, presumably from the third man.

"Severus," Lucius said warningly.

"My apologies, Pettigrew." Draco sensed the words were painful for his godfather to say.

The other man spoke up again. "You always were a slimy bast-Ow!"

"James Potter isn't around to protect you anymore," Severus said silkily. "And it would seem that's your own fault." The third man mumbled something Draco didn't hear. "Clever of you, really, to get Potter to swap."

"Peter doesn't deserve the credit," Father said, laughing. "It was Black who suggested it!"

"So Black's not completely innocent," Severus muttered.

"Yes, yes," Father said impatiently. "You can keep hating him. What interests me now is how you're still alive, Peter. He was just getting to that when you arrived, Severus."

"I-it was easy, really," the man - Peter - squeaked.

"Obviously, if you managed to pull it off," Snape muttered.

"I shan't tell it if you're going to be rude," Peter said.

There was a pause. "Continue," Severus said curtly.

"I'd made arrangements with the Dark Lord-" Draco listened eagerly. "-that once Lily and James were dead, he'd come to my house and k-kill Sirius when he came to check on me. We'd planned to use Polyjuice Potion - the Dark Lord would take one of Sirius' hairs and go to D-Dumbledore, distraught, and kill him. I'd deal with Remus, m-make it look like an accident, like he'd scratched himself to death."

"Clever," Father said approvingly. Draco nodded importantly on the other side of the door; Father was impressed so he should feel impressed too.

"I was w-waiting for him to return, though, when my arm went cold. You both know what I'm talking about. I went straight to Godric's Hollow and found Lily and James dead, b-but Harry was alive. I realised what had happened and was about to end the boy's life-"

"And why," Father asked in a voice that made Draco shiver, "would you have done that, Peter?"

"Because the Dark Lord-"

"The Dark Lord was already destroyed," Father said, a little unhappily. Peter whimpered. "Why would you destroy his successor?"

"W-what?"

There was a loud slapping noise, like a hand on a desk. "Harry Potter is the next pure-blood champion," Father said. "He must be. He has some muggle blood from his rotten mother-" Severus snarled, obviously for his hate of muggle blood. "-but there are spells that can be done to fix that-"

"C-champion?" Peter squeaked.

"How else could he have defeated the Dark Lord at the age of one, if not for dark magic?" Father asked. There was a swishing sound, like robes around ankles and Draco gathered either Father or Severus was pacing; this Peter didn't sound like the pacing type.

"I d-don't-"

"And why else would Dumbledore have removed him from the wizarding community?" Father said.

"I-I don't-"

"Fear, Peter, that's why. If the Potter child could defeat the greatest wizard of all time, what chance does an old fool like Dumbledore have?"

"Dumbledore is considered one of the greatest-" Severus began.

"He can't hear you here, Severus, there's no need to defend him," Father said impatiently. "Well, Peter?"

"N-none."

"That's right," Father said in a condescending tone. "And if Black's not Dark, which you - here and alive - seem to indicate, then he's undoubtedly taken Potter to try to turn him 'good'. Needless to say, the Potter boy must be rescued from Black before he does too much damage."

"You're already serving him," Severus said, sounding stunned.

"The Dark Lord always rewarded loyalty handsomely," Father said. "Doubtless Potter will be the same once he is old enough." There was silence from inside the office. "Continue with your story, Peter," Father said at last.

"W-well, I was going to kill Harry - but that was very, very wrong," he added hastily, "-when Sirius s-showed up. I could have taken him, but then Hagrid was there too-"

"Dumbledore's pet oaf," Father said.

"I-I transformed and fled." He was stuttering rather a lot, but Draco didn't think he was scared; it sounded like excited stuttering. "I didn't know what to do. I knew Sirius would be looking for me, but I could smell he'd already been to my house so I knew I'd be safe there, at least for a little while. In the morning, Dumbledore showed up.

"W-we collected Remus and Dumbledore sat us down in his office and told us what had happened. Sirius spent the next few days looking for me, not that he had much choice. Without me he had no proof that there'd ever been a swap. N-not even Dumbledore knew. He tracked me down eventually, which was always bound to happen, I s-suppose."

"I lured him to a crowded street, shouted that he'd betrayed Lily and J-James and then, while he was reaching for his wand, I blew everything up. My wand too, unfortunately, but it made it look authentic. I'd hoped it would kill Sirius b-but he got a Shield Charm up in time, the b-bastard. I cut off my finger to make it look like _I_ was the one who'd died, and then I transformed in the confusion and hid in the sewers." He laughed breathlessly. "I watched as they dragged him off to Azkaban."

"Yet this is the first time you've been seen for seven years," Severus said.

"Sirius was out of the way," Peter said, "but if I showed up in Diagon Alley people would recognise me-"

"You think too highly of yourself," Severus said. "You are remarkably forgettable."

"I have an Order of Merlin-"

"For dying," Father said. "And you failed at that. I think Severus has made a good point. Why now, Peter?"

"W-with Sirius out, it isn't safe for me anymore. No doubt he's told the boy what really happened. N-no one's going to listen to Sirius, not now, but they might listen to H-Harry."

"You haven't answered the question. Why _now_?"

"The brother of the b-boy I live with met Harry yesterday. That's too close."

"You've been living with the Weasleys?" Father asked. Draco just _knew_ he was sneering. "Of all the places, Peter..."

"What choice did I have? I know they're blood-traitors but that's n-not new to me. If I'd shown up here you'd have d-drowned me!"

Father chuckled. Severus didn't. "I do hope you realise Arthur Weasley will be wondering why one of his sons is missing a pet. And if word reaches Black-"  
"I'm not stupid!" Peter said shrilly. "I replaced myself. I even cut the t-toe off."

"So what is it you want from me?" Father asked.

"Protection," Peter said piteously. "N-"

"What is Master doing listening at doors?" Dobby asked, though he'd had the sense to whisper.

Draco bit down on his tongue to stop from screaming. He grabbed Dobby by the wrist and dragged him down the hall, past the bathroom to the large window that looked into the courtyard. "I forbid you to ever tell anyone about that," Draco whispered fiercely. "This never happened."

"Yes, young Master," the elf squeaked, looking frightened.

"Good," Draco said. "Now... go get me something to eat."

-()()()()()-

Severus didn't give himself time to think. He added everything he had learned in the past hour to a cauldron in a room in the outer corridors of his mind, the way he might add other potions ingredients. He left it there to simmer. It would remain there until he was ready to deal with it. For the time being, he had a task.

 _Thank goodness it's a Saturday,_ he thought as he stepped out of his fireplace. He glanced at the pile of unmarked work on his desk. _They won't be marked tonight, unfortunately._ He sighed; he'd been hoping to get those done.

He scooped _Medicinal Mixes_ off his bookshelf, Summoned his cauldron and potion kit and established himself in the brewing room adjacent to his quarters. Skele-Gro he would be able to get from Madam Pomfrey - _one of the small travel bottles, I think_ \- but the Nerve Tonic and Essence of Gecko he would need to make himself.

Neither were tricky - he'd be able to have both done by morning - but they did require a certain attention to detail. Severus got to work, chopping, squeezing, crushing, pouring and stirring. Stirring most of all.

 _And one pinch of dried gecko tongues._ He stirred thrice - clockwise, counter-clockwise and then clockwise again and the potion turned a murky green. _Finally._ Severus glanced at the sky outside which was beginning to lighten.

He conjured a flask, filled it, and then set it beside the phial of Nerve Tonic. " _Evanesco_ ," he murmured, pointing his wand at his cauldron. He packed up, placed his two concoctions in a small wooden chest and returned to his sleeping quarters. He fell straight into his bed, not caring to change his robes or take off his shoes.

 _Lucius must think I'm a fool_ , he thought bleakly. _A bottle of Skele-Gro, Essence of Gecko and Nerve Tonic._ Not Tonic for nerves, he'd said, but Tonic to fix damaged nerves. _Though I daresay Pettigrew could find use for either, jittery thing that he is. And Lucius wanted a Pain-Reduction Remedy too..._ Severus smiled nastily. _Pettigrew will have to do without._

 _Pettigrew..._ Reluctantly, Severus freed his memories of the afternoon from the cauldron he'd left them in. To find him alive was one thing. To find out that _he_ had been the Secret Keeper, though...

Severus had known from the outset that Pettigrew had joined the Dark Lord's cause. He was just the type; power-hungry and a little scared. _We all were. Even Lucius._ It had all seemed like fun, like a game, and then his classmates had started to choose sides too.

Potter and his gang had joined Dumbledore midway through their seventh year. Lily too. It was utterly like her - and really, as a muggleborn, what choice had she had? - though Severus had always hoped otherwise. He'd warned Potter then, that Pettigrew was the spy, not outright, never outright - it would have meant his life and he wasn't about to die for Potter - but either Potter had been too stupid to understand his hints or too proud to believe anything but the best of his chubby, traitorous friend.

Outside school, Pettigrew had continued to feed the Dark Lord information. Dates, plans, locations... anything his little rat-ears picked up on. In return, he was never hurt during a duel, only Stunned. Severus had broken his arm once though. He'd told everyone it was an accident and they'd believed him.

Severus had joined Dumbledore's side after hearing the prophecy and learning that the Dark Lord was out to kill Lily. He never said a word about Pettigrew, lest he draw suspicion back on himself; he'd never liked Pettigrew, going through school, spineless thing that he was, and he'd liked him less once he became a Death Eater because it meant he had to put up with him more often, and because his actions were putting Lily in danger.

He would have been the first one the Dark Lord questioned and his betrayal would have been the death of him. Instead, he foiled plans where he could, and tried to undo the damage Pettigrew had done. He'd never suspected Black to be the traitor despite his other - and numerous in Severus' opinion - faults, at least not until he'd heard that Potter and Lily were dead and Black was missing.

Aside from anything else, Black had never been subtle, and Severus struggled to believe that he could have missed the fact that Black was spying for the Dark Lord. What other options were there, though? Black was arrested and taken to Azkaban, Pettigrew was dead and Lily... It had come as a shock - and a painful one at that, worse than any torture he'd ever experienced - to learn Lily was dead.

News of Potter's death had hurt too, strangely, but nowhere near enough to let Severus forgive him. He hated James Potter dead more than he had alive and he was happy to leave it that way. But now, as it turned out, Severus had not heard anything about Black spying for the Dark Lord, because Black such a thing had never happened. Black was not the traitor. He was guilty of a thousand other things, of course; breaking out of prison - he belonged there, whether he'd killed those muggles and Pettigrew or not - kidnapping and deliberate evasion of justice, to name a few. But Black hadn't killed Lily.

It put Severus in a rather sticky situation. He'd rather liked how things were; Potter was dead and Severus hoped he'd stay that way. He'd come to terms with his grief over Lily's death, although not his guilt. He didn't think he'd ever stop trying to make it up to her, however, and he had reconciled himself with that. Black - popular, Quidditch-star, good-looking, Black - was hated by everyone and had spent the majority of his adult life behind bars with only Dementors for company.

The thought brought a smile to Severus' face. Lupin had remained free but certainly not unpunished; he'd looked old the last time Severus saw him, and while some of his Marauder-induced boldness remained, the majority had been crushed by the past seven years, which he'd spent alone. Pettigrew, he'd believed dead, a fate Severus had thought he thoroughly deserved.

But he wasn't. And it was him that had killed Lily. And only Pettigrew himself, Lucius, Severus, Black and possibly the Potter boy knew. The last two would be apprehended before they got the chance to speak, so it really only left three. Lucius had clearly seen an ulterior purpose for helping Pettigrew and, so, while it suited him, Lucius wouldn't tell a soul. Pettigrew's life depended on his silence so he'd never tell anyone either. That left Severus. And if Severus told, they'd know it had been him.

What would Dumbledore think, though, if Severus were to keep something this big from him? He owed the man his life, but telling him would mean doing Black a favour and that would be unbearable. As they were prone to doing in times of indecision, Severus' thoughts flicked to Lily and what she would do, what she would want. Since he was the one that had taken away her ability to do or say things herself, he would do it on her behalf.

 _Lily would want her son safe_ , Severus knew immediately. _And Black too. She was... fond of him._ The thought made his skin crawl. _I wonder what she'd make of this Dark Lord business..._ He shook his head; he could well imagine and it wasn't pleasant. It was simply ludicrous that anyone could believe the offspring - Severus still hated that thought - of James Potter and Lily Evans could be evil. The child was no doubt as arrogant and spoiled as his saintly father, but not Dark.

 _And, if Black's innocent, I can't imagine Potter's son is in danger from anything but Black's lack of maturity. And wherever it is they're hiding, they've yet to be found. Yesterday being the exception of course, but Lupin was the only one there and given half a chance, Black would have talked him around._

Severus' thoughts soured. _It seems I was wrong about that too; Lupin's either a very good actor or he doesn't know the truth._ He sighed loudly and rolled into his pillow. _Yet again, Potter's son and friends are meddling with my life!_

-()()()()()-

"Hydrus! Draco! Come downstairs. I have presents for the both of you," Father called.

Draco and Hydrus glanced at Mother. "Go," she said, sighing. She closed the book she'd been reading them with a quiet snap.

Both boys got up and sprinted down the hall, around the corner and downstairs, where Father was waiting. He frowned. "Malfoys do not run," he said coolly.

"Yes, Father," Hydrus said immediately, looking stricken.

"Sorry," Draco added.

Father smiled slightly. "I have decided that you both need to learn what it is to have control over another living thing. Some would call it responsibility."

"But not you," Hydrus said.

Father inclined his head. "No, not me."

"Father, that's what Dobby's for," Draco said, arrogantly.

"Dobby belongs to the family, not to you," Father reminded him. "These, however, are yours." Father held out two small, brown shapes.

"It's a rat," Hydrus said flatly.

"It is your rat," Father said, passing him one of the two. His was slightly larger than the one Father gave Draco, and slightly darker in colour. Otherwise, there was little difference between them. Draco cradled his carefully, with two hands. "You'll have to be careful. They're not toys. Don't squeeze it," Father warned as Hydrus lifted his up, curiously.

"I wasn't going to," Hydrus said.

Draco stared at his curiously. He didn't like rats much; once, when he was younger, he'd got lost in the cellar and spent the night listening to them squeak. Father had put up wards the next day to keep them out, but the damage was done. This one _seemed_ friendly enough, though. Its whiskers twitched as it sniffed his fingers.

"What are they called?" he asked.

"That's for you to decide."

Hydrus was quiet. "Bosworth," he said finally, with a little grin. "Like the cheese."

His rat squeaked. "I don't think he likes it," Draco said.

"It's a rat," Father said coldly. "Of course it likes it. And yours, Draco?"

"Roquefort. They can both be like cheeses."

Draco's rat squeaked too. "Yours doesn't like it either," Hydrus said.

"Does so!"

"Enough petty bickering," Father said. "They both like their names and that is that. He glared at both rats as if to make his point. "Play nicely now."

"I'll show you the house," Hydrus decided, cradling the rat carefully in his hands. "This room that we're in," he told Bosworth, while Draco stared, "is the foyer. Those stairs lead to the upstairs hallway where my bedroom and Draco's bedroom and Mother and Father's bedroom and the library and the guest rooms are." Hydrus strode toward the double doors on the right into the hallway and stared explaining the rules about Father's office.

Roquefort squeaked at Draco. "What?" he asked it. "I'm not giving you a tour." The rat squeaked again, as if to ask why. "Because you're a rat, stupid."

The more time Draco spent with his rat, the more he disliked it; all Roquefort wanted to do was sleep and he had an unfortunate habit of biting Draco's things, and if Draco tried to stop him, Draco's fingers. Hydrus on the other hand, refused to be separated from Bosworth.

He'd claimed the small wooden potion chest that Severus had brought to the Manor earlier that week and stuffed it with blankets; Father had been furious when he heard Hydrus planned to let the rat sleep on his pillow. Roquefort wasn't allowed on Draco's pillow either - Father had forbidden it, but Draco wasn't keen on the idea anyway - and he slept in the cage Draco had made Dobby buy.

"Draco, look!" Hydrus called, walking past with Bosworth sitting on his shoulder; to start with, Hydrus' gait had been too uneven and the rat had often squealed before sliding slowly and inevitably down his back but it seemed they'd mastered it.

Draco watched, a jealously and poked the sleeping lump in his pocket. "Why can't you do that?" he asked Roquefort; he too had tried to teach his rat to sit on his shoulder but Roquefort had fallen off after a few yards, bitten Draco when he tried to pick him up, and refused to be handled for the rest of the day.

-()()()()()-

 _"I will attack the Potters this time next week," the Dark Lord said in his cold, high, voice. "They will, I presume, have returned by then."_

 _His red eyes turned to Pettigrew who trembled. "That is correct, My Lord. James said they'll be leaving St Mungo's tomorrow."_

 _"Which is when they'll feel most vulnerable," the Dark Lord said. "Let them sit and grow confident again."_

 _"Yes, My Lord."_

 _"You will organise a meeting time with them, Wormtail," he ordered. "A time when they will, without doubt, be there. And the boy. The boy must be there." Pettigrew bowed. "Leave." He left. The Dark Lord turned his terrible eyes on Severus. "I suppose you are wondering why I have called you here."_

 _"I'm sure My Lord has his reasons," Severus said, not meeting his eyes. He felt a light, probing touch in his mind and did nothing to resist it. In fact, he titled his head and met those red eyes. The Dark Lord's consciousness crept in as a snake. He could even feel its scales - cool, smooth and a little slimy - as it slithered through the dungeon that was his mind._

 _There were thousands of corridors, cold, dark and unwelcoming - most ended in doors that would deposit an intruder on the outside of his mind. Others simply ended. Some never did. Some had doors which led to storerooms of potion ingredients, or potions themselves. Some rooms were empty. Only one path would take anyone into the depths of his mind and it was a long journey, with corridors that doubled back on each other, and so many forks it was almost too difficult to bother with._

 _Of course, Severus was not foolish enough to frustrate the Dark Lord. The moment the Dark Lord had ventured in, his mind had re-shaped itself to form a dungeon identical to that of Hogwarts'. The Dark Lord, as a former Slytherin, knew his way around perfectly. Severus feigned disappointment. The Dark Lord stopped in several of the storerooms along the way._

 _In one, he glanced at the array of unlabelled potions with interest and his tongue flickered out to taste the fumes of an Essence of Euphoria. In another, his Legillimency took a human form and he strode over to peruse the shelves of ingredients. He picked up a jar of daisy roots and tossed it to the floor - the Dark Lord could be gentle when he wanted to, but unexpected gestures were a good way of testing one's defences. Severus winced, knowing the Dark Lord would see it, as the jar shattered into nothing on the stone floor._

 _Satisfied, the Dark Lord continued into the office that Severus had moved into only days before, when Slughorn moved out. Severus had remodelled the core of his mind to show the office instead of the Slytherin Common Room for the sake of security; those that might try to force their way into his mind were not likely to be as intimately familiar with the Head of Slytherin's office as they were with the Slytherin Common Room._

 _Jars lined the walls, as did bottles of potions and each contained a thought, memory or emotion. The Dark Lord scooped up a small jar of pollen from a tiger lily and opened it. A memory of Severus and Lily paddling in the little river that ran through their thicket emerged._

 _The Dark Lord watched with interest and then placed the jar back on the shelf and picked up a roll of bright green snakeskin. The Sorting Hat's voice booming 'SLYTHERIN!' echoed through the stone room. Another object - a phial labelled Veritaserum this time - was chosen at random and opened. Severus heard his seventeen-year-old self pledging his allegiance to the Dark Lord. Smiling now, the Dark Lord swept over to the gleaming silver cauldron that was simmering in the corner._

 _The Dark Lord glanced with slight amusement at the ragged cloth beside it. "You polish your cauldrons even here, Severus?" Severus didn't respond because he didn't trust his voice._

 _The Dark Lord dipped a hand into the cauldron - which contained a potion of Severus' thoughts - and Severus heard snatches of his voice;_...didn't wash his hands... potion's useless now... find my office so easily?... be better defended than this... too powerful... My Lord... _Seeming pleased, the Dark Lord backed out of his head._

 _Severus sank to his knees, his eyes on the floor. Already, his mind was reshaping itself into the maze-like labyrinth it usually was. Already his magic was scouring the surfaces and floors the Dark Lord had touched. The memories that had been disturbed were righting themselves and settling into their usual places._

 _And he'd succeeded; the Dark Lord had knocked over that jar of daisy roots - those were in fact just a figment of his imagination - but the powdered bumblebee stings on the shelf above it were not. They contained the memories of his true reasons for siding with Dumbledore and remained untouched, as did the pellets of muggle rat poison that were the memories of the - unheeded - warnings he'd given Potter about Pettigrew in their seventh year._

 _In another storeroom, a packet of cactus barbs that contained his memories of his mother - who was very like a cactus; not necessarily pretty, but resilient, practical and prickly - lay innocently in a drawer only a few feet from the Essence of Euphoria the Dark Lord had looked at and surrounded by other pretend ingredients and potions. The ragged cloth the Dark Lord had asked about held his memories of the conversation with the Sorting Hat, as he begged it to put him in Gryffindor with Lily._

 _Better yet, the potion in the cauldron that contained his thoughts worked rather like water and oil, with two distinct layers, and the Dark Lord had not suspected a thing as he ran his hand through the top layer. Severus was almost giddy with success but didn't show it; he hid that memory in a small phial that contained a clear liquid - it was pure alcohol - sometimes used in Befuddlement Draughts or Healing Potions - but looked like water, and while it might make him feel good, too much would certainly kill him._

 _"Rise, Severus," the Dark Lord said._

 _Severus stood. "My Lord," he said, inclining his head. "You found what you were looking for?"_

 _He still looked pleased - Severus knew he was happy that his memories of becoming a Death Eater had been stored in a phial of 'Veritaserum'. It wasn't Veritaserum, of course. It was water - necessary if one wanted to survive, nothing more - but it looked the same and had no smell that the human nose could pick up on, so the Dark Lord wouldn't know any different. "I did."_

 _"I'm glad I've been useful to you, My Lord."_

 _"There is more," the Dark Lord said softly._

 _"More, My Lord?"_

 _"It concerns your... fondness... for the Potter Mudblood."_

 _"She was a good friend to me growing up," Severus said carefully. "Nothing more."_

 _"Such lies, Severus. I saw the memories." Severus resisted the urge to snort; his most significant memories of Lily were his most fiercely protected, tucked away in obscure places; in a jar with the petals of the blossom she'd scared her sister with on the day they first talked, in a potion that was the same green as her eyes, in a jar of dried heather because that had been her mother's name, in a jar of the roots of a gorse bush because that's what he'd sat under after his Defence Against the Dark Arts O.W.L. exam... The Dark Lord had seen none of those._

 _"Forgive me, My Lord, but I have some small talent with Legillimency and consequently understand the futility of attempting to deceive one who is vastly more gifted than I."_

 _The Dark Lord seemed to consider that for a moment. "Even so, Severus," he said finally, "you will be saddened by her death."_

 _"Is it... not possible to... spare her?"_

 _"She has made it clear that her loyalties lie with Dumbledore," the Dark Lord replied, watching him carefully. Severus gave a jerky nod. He was on dangerous ground here and they both knew it. "She dies next week. Do with that what you will. Leave. Send Lucius in."_

 _"Yes, my Lord." Severus bowed and swept out of the room. "Lucius," he said, nodding. Lucius passed him, his pale face unreadable._

Do with that what you will... _Severus repeated the words in his head._ So he knows. Knows or suspects. It's a test. _Lily was as good as dead unless he did something and if he did,_ he _was dead._ Give me a stupid Master over a clever one any day _, Severus thought bitterly._

 _"Bad news?"_

Not so much any more... _A plan formed in Severus' head._ What if both Lily and I can survive this?

 _"Sev? Was it bad?" When Regulus Black joined partway through his seventh year - it had come as a shock to Severus, who'd always picked the younger Black to be a bystander in the war - they had become friends of sorts, despite Severus' loathing for his brother._

 _"Bad enough," he said._

 _Regulus fell into step beside him. "What happened?"_

 _Severus knew Regulus - despite them being on opposite sides of the war - would hate for harm to come to Black or his friends, and he also knew if anyone could tip them off without giving everything away, it would be him._

 _"Another murder plot," Severus said, working to sound bored._

 _"Who?" Regulus asked, his shoulders stiffening._

 _"Potter and Lily," Severus said. "And their son."_

 _"Why didn't you just say 'The Potters'?" Regulus asked, puzzled. "They're married."_

A fact I work awfully hard to try to forget. _Regulus, of course, would remember it vividly because Potter had invited him. "Oh, yes."_

 _"When?"_

 _"When what?"_

 _"When's the attack?" Regulus asked, his grey eyes oddly bright._

 _"This time next week. Pe-plans-" Severus said smoothly, "have been made to ensure they'll be there at the proper time." For the very same reason that this was likely to work, Severus also couldn't reveal Pettigrew's true nature; Regulus was prone to having fits of gallantry - Severus supposed it was a side-effect of growing up with Black - and if he told Black, the Dark Lord would kill him. Since Regulus was as good a friend as Severus had had since Lily, he wasn't about to do that-_

 _"Enough," Severus said and the dream-memory halted. With a wave of his hand the dark corridor disappeared taking Regulus with it. "Wake up," he told himself._

Severus opened his eyes after dreaming of the war for the fifth time in as many nights after seeing Pettigrew again. It made sense, that after seeing the man who had betrayed Lily, Severus would find himself remembering when he had betrayed the Dark Lord in order to save her. It didn't mean he had to like it.

War memories were hard to deal with at the best of times, particularly when they came unbidden. This one at least, had ended reasonably well; Severus had gone to visit Draco - who had only been about two months old on the night of the attack - and Hydrus, who had been only ten months old.

Not only had he met the child he was secondary guardian to - since he'd already met Hydrus - but he was also in Lucius' presence and could not be blamed for the plan being foiled. And it had indeed been foiled; Severus later learned that Regulus had staged a fight with Black and drawn Potter, Lily, Potter's son and even Lupin to his brother's apartment, and out of harm's way. The Dark Lord's trust in Severus had been renewed, thus giving him more freedom, and with that freedom, he had served the Order.

Beyond that memory, things were not so happy; Regulus had died a week later - Severus never learned how and he didn't think the Dark Lord had either; Regulus' Dark Mark's magic had informed him - and Severus had had to take the news to Walburga Black and endure her misery for the best part of an hour.

That brought back memories too; the house elf had been distraught to hear Severus talk about his Master's death. Even now Severus could hear its croaky wailing and see its big, bloodshot eyes...

He blanked his mind with Occlumency, focusing on the grey stone walls of his dungeon-mind but the thoughts were still there, just hidden. He sighed and rolled over, trying to get back to sleep, though he suspected it was a futile endeavour.


	11. Chapter 11

_Ostendere me omnia_ , Harry thought. His vision flickered and there was a flash of colour and then Harry's vision flickered again and went back to normal.

"The brat is not being even close that time," Kreacher croaked. He had returned to his active dislike of Padfoot and his tolerance of Harry after helping Padfoot find Harry earlier that month; Grimmauld's wards were so comprehensive that they tracked anyone leaving the house via magical means and Kreacher had been able to read them at Padfoot's request.

Padfoot was much nicer to the old elf as a result - and because he was back to cooking and cleaning - and even tolerated his obsession with the drawing room.

"Not at all?" Harry asked.

"Not at all," Kreacher told him. "Clearly Master's ineptitude is catching. Kreacher just hopes Kreacher does not catch it too-"

"I'm trying, all right?" Harry snapped.

"Apparating's hard," Padfoot had warned him when Harry approached him with the idea a few weeks earlier. "Quite a few grown wizards can't even manage it, but then, house elves can Apparate before they can walk."

Padfoot was watching now, with an over-done sulky expression; Harry had warned him to look upset about the whole thing to keep Kreacher happy, because the only way he'd got Kreacher to agree to it, was by telling him that Padfoot thought it was a bad idea.

Padfoot actually thought it was a very good idea, because, while he was limited by the wards, Kreacher wasn't and Padfoot hoped he could pass that skill onto Harry. Padfoot had tried to get Kreacher to teach him how to see the wards and Apparate through them – so he could teach Harry instead - but it had resulted in a shouting match, and animosity between the pair for days until Harry, who was sick of Padfoot being moody and Kreacher's muttering, forced them to drop it.

"The brat insists on wasting Kreacher's time," Kreacher muttered.

Frowning, Harry clutched his wand - house elves didn't need wands but all wizards did – and muttered the incantation again; if he had any hope of Apparating in Grimmauld Place, he'd need to see the wards. House elves, according to Kreacher, could see them naturally, but people required an incantation and it had taken Harry almost a week to find one.

Finally, he'd found it in the book they'd found in Regulus' room, titled _Traces and Auras: See The Magic Around You._ It was an interesting read in Harry's opinion, and none of the incantations required a wand, only concentration and innate magical ability. So far, it was the concentration that Harry was struggling with.

"Try saying them out loud," Padfoot suggested.

"The book says to think them," Harry snapped.

"Try it," Padfoot said patiently.

" _Ostendere me omnia_ ," Harry said, rolling his eyes at his godfather. His mouth fell open. The entire room had come to life and was pulsing with light and magic.

"Is it working?" Padfoot asked. His magic, Harry noticed, was a brilliant red colour, and it looked like the sea on a rough day, constantly swirling around him, surging and massing at various points and then gone and somewhere else the next. Kreacher was a soft green, so pale it was almost white, and brittle, Harry thought, though he couldn't explain why or how if he tried. His magic didn't move much but it was very concentrated.

Harry himself was red and gold, made of tiny sparks, like the ones that had come out of his wand the day he bought it. Even the walls had magic; he could see the complex weave of Orion Black's murky green and black magic in thin, wire-like strands, Padfoot's interwoven crimson and here and there and Harry's own red and gold, presumably from the Fidelius Charm.

The warding moved as a whole entity, pulsing. Harry now understood what Kreacher had said about them being alive, but he didn't understand how in Godric's name he was supposed to find a hole in them. " _Finite_ ," he said. The colour faded and then the training room was back to its normal - and now comparably dull - state. "It's brilliant," he said. "And sorry for snapping." Padfoot smiled.

"It-" But what Padfoot was about to say, Harry never found out. Right at that moment, there was a loud pop outside and a hooded figure dressed all in black appeared in the street. The figure dropped his hood and revealed a man with black hair to his shoulders - almost like Padfoot's - and a sallow face. The other features were distinguishable, but Padfoot's jaw dropped. "No," he gasped, running over to the window to get a better look.

"Who is it?" Harry wanted to know, following his godfather to the window.

The man glanced at Number Thirteen and then at Number Eleven. Then he turned and stared at Number Twelve. He would be able to see it, of course, since the Fidelius Charm didn't actually hide the house; usually the Fidelius Charm was entwined with others that did, but Padfoot had said that making Number Twelve vanish would draw attention to it, and Harry was inclined to agree.

What the Fidelius Charm did hide, was Harry and Padfoot; someone could walk into Number Twelve and search every room and never find either of them, because, as long as Harry and Padfoot were inside the house, the charm would conceal their existence. Padfoot had said Dumbledore himself could stand in the same room as them and not know they were there.

"That," Padfoot growled, "is Snivellus."

Harry stared. " _That's_ him? What's he doing here?"

Padfoot whistled loudly; after listening to the sales witch in Diagon Alley, Padfoot had attempted to train Hedwig so that he could prove dogs were better companions. She'd learned to come when she was called, but disdained - privately, Harry didn't think it was necessary for an owl to learn to hoot on command or chase its tail – to learn the other tricks Padfoot had attempted to teach her to do. He'd bragged about the victory for days.

A moment later she flew into the training room and landed on the window seat. Padfoot had Summoned writing equipment from the other side of the room and was writing a note. Harry got a glimpse as he passed it to the owl.

 _What do you want?_ it said in Padfoot's neat, rather pointy hand.

Harry opened his mouth to ask if confirming that they were there – even though he couldn't find them unless Harry told him where they were - was a good idea but he thought it might be a bit too late for that; Snivellus - Snape was his real name, Harry remembered - was watching Number Twelve with an odd mix of glee and loathing, and seemed to be deciding whether to come inside or not. "Send the quill too," Harry suggested.

Padfoot nodded stiffly and gave Hedwig the quill. Harry opened the window and she flew out, startling Snape. He wrote something down and sent it back.

Padfoot opened the note at once and Harry craned his neck to read it. _To talk_ , Snape had written in a messy scrawl.

 _Then talk,_ Padfoot wrote.

 _Inside._

 _Come in, then_. Hary could hear the challenge in those words.

 _Am I able to?_

 _Try._

Snape stared at the note for almost a minute before he scribbled something back. _I believe I'll require an escort._

"What do you think?" Padfoot asked Harry, his eyes never once leaving the man on the street.

"Er... I dunno - can we trust him?"

Padfoot snorted but then his expression became thoughtful. _Send your wand back with the owl_ , Padfoot wrote on the back or the scrap of parchment.

"You're letting him in?" Harry asked.

"He knows where we are," Padfoot said, "but he's not bound by the Fidelius Charm so he can tell whoever he wants that we're here. No one would be able to find us, but I don't even want them _looking._ If we tell him the secret, he's bound by it and he won't be able to say anything."

"Oh." Harry looked back out the window at Snape, who was glaring between Padfoot's note and the house.

A moment later, Hedwig returned with a long wand made of reddish wood. _Break it and I will kill you with my bare hands_ , said the note accompanying it.

"Red Oak," Padfoot murmured, tossing the parchment aside. "And Dragon Heartstring, I think."

"How do you know?"

He snorted, shoving it into his pocket. "The number of times Prongs and I stole this thing... I'll tell you about it later. Our... guest... is waiting." Harry and Padfoot made their way to the front door. " _Obscuro,"_ Padfoot said calmly. A blindfold appeared, covering Snape's eyes. The other man seemed annoyed but he didn't fight it. Padfoot and Harry walked down, took one of Snape's arms each and led him up the stairs and into the house. They took him into the study and Padfoot locked the door with a charm and closed the curtains.

Only then did he take the blindfold off. Snape's cold black eyes trailed over the room, taking in the closed door, the covered windows and then finally came to land on Padfoot, with loathing. They moved to Harry a moment later. The man looked like he'd been slapped. Harry stared back at him, defiant. Snape's eyes moved to his eyes instead of his face and hair and then he swallowed and looked away.

"How did you find us?" Padfoot demanded.

"I had a dream," Snape said in a curt voice. Harry found his eyes drawn to the man's hooked nose and greasy hair. Both were just as bad as Padfoot had always said.

"You dreamed about the house?" Padfoot said flatly.

"Your brother, actually." Snape said. "I was the one who told your mother he'd died. Did you know that?" Padfoot bared his teeth. "Apparently not. I remembered your elf and this house. How else could you trick the Trace? You aren't stupid, Black, but you aren't competent enough to set up wards that could throw off a Ministry-order monitoring charm, nor are you competent enough to get by without magic-"

"Yes, but how did you _know?_ "

"You opened the window," Snape drawled.

"No, I asked-"

"I heard you the first time, Black," Snape said impatiently. "I listen, you see. It's quite a useful skill-"

Padfoot snarled and took a step closer to the other wizard. "So help me, Snivellus-"

"I suspected you might be here," Snape said with a nasty smile. "But nothing more, at least not until you sent your bird out. I've been told time and time again, _assured_ , that you loathe this house so very much that you'd never dream of setting a foot inside." Snape's expression soured. "I did suggest you might be drawn to the house, if only for the neighbours, but Dumbledore assured me that was not the case, that the house had been checked before you took the boy-" Snape's eyes flicked to Harry. "- and had been watched ever since."

"If only for the neighbours?" Padfoot asked, puzzled.

"Surely you know," Snape drawled. Padfoot and Harry exchanged bemused looks. Snape eyed them both before lifting an eyebrow. "Fascinating. It seems, Black, that your powers of observation are as pathetically limited as they were the last time we met-"

"Why did you come?" Padfoot asked coldly. "Why alone? I'd have thought you'd bring a hundred Dementors, Dumbledore _and_ the Ministry."

"Don't tempt me," Snape said, his dark eyes glinting. "There's still nothing more I would like than to hand you over to the Dementors, Black."

"So why haven't you?" Harry asked while Padfoot seethed.

Snape watched him curiously. "I happen to know the truth."

"You?" Padfoot snarled.

"Me," Snape said with a nasty smile that showed his yellowing teeth. "I'd never have picked you for a traitor, Black-"

"I'm touched," Padfoot said, in a tone that suggested he was anything but.

Snape glowered at him. "A murderer, yes - how could I not? - but never a traitor. Not to Potter anyway. And then, as it happens, I ran into an old school friend of ours. One I'd believed dead."

"Peter," Padfoot hissed. One of the lamps on the wall exploded. "Where? Where was he?"

"He could be anywhere by now, I'm sure," Snape said with a glance at the lamp. "This was two weeks ago."

" _Reparo,"_ Harry muttered. The lamp fixed itself, though it resembled a mosaic more than the smooth glass dome it had been before. Snape looked at him for a moment and then turned back to Padfoot.

"So you figured it out," Padfoot said. He Summoned an armchair from the corner and sank into it. "Who else knows?"

"No one," Snape said.

"And I'm supposed to believe that?" Padfoot asked, incredulous. "After everything that happened between us in school, I'm supposed to believe you'd do us a favour, Snivellus?"

Snape's eyes flicked to Harry. "Believe what you will," he said curtly.

Padfoot struggled with himself for a moment, growled once and then, looking rather annoyed asked, "Why?"

"For the same reasons you've said nothing," Snape said. "There's no evidence but my word or yours. Dumbledore might believe me, or perhaps even Lupin, but that accomplishes nothing. They cannot get you a pardon. Even if the Ministry were to believe you were not the Secret Keeper, they'll still charge you with everything else you've done. If you have any hope of freedom, they'll need to realise they're wrong themselves. Only once they're tripping over their apologies will you have any hope." He looked like he hoped that day would never come.

"And for them to realise they're wrong, I need Peter," Padfoot muttered.

"Precisely. And even if I were to tell the Ministry anything, or have someone tell them on my behalf, they would no doubt trace the rumour back to me and I will be forced to explain why I am defending you. The Ministry is utterly incompetent but even they could not overlook an old Death Eater working to absolve a supposedly active one..." He shook his head. "I worked hard to redeem myself after the war and I will die before I throw that away for the likes of you."

Padfoot watched Snape like a dog might watch a cat; Snape was clearly the prey but Padfoot didn't want a nose full of claws either. "Then why have you come here at all?" he asked finally. "Why not just stay quiet and pretend you know nothing?"

Snape's eyes flicked to Harry again. "I had to check on the boy."

"Since when do you care about James' son?" Padfoot asked.

There was a pause. Snape's eyes met Harry's again. "I do not care for Potter's spawn," he said finally, looking away. "But while you're guiltless of killing Potter an-" He cleared his throat. "- _The_ Potter's, you have other crimes. I will not have a child - any child - in an environment where they are not comfortable."

"I am," said Harry at once. Snape looked at him. "Comfortable, I mean."

"You enjoy Black's company?"

"He's loads better than the Dursleys."

A flicker of irritation passed over Snape's face at the mention of the Dursleys but it was gone again a moment later. "Very well." He looked back to Padfoot. "Will he be attending Hogwarts?"

"Of course!" Harry and Padfoot said together.

"I've done what I came for then," Snape said, brushing dust off his robes. He turned to Harry. "Know now that I will treat you as I would any other student." Harry nodded. _Warning received. He'll hate me because he hates Padfoot and Dad._ Snape held out his hand. For a moment Harry thought he wanted Padfoot to shake it, but he merely said, "My wand."

"You'll stay quiet about what happened here?" Padfoot asked, extracting the wand from his pocket.

"As I've said, I have no desire whatsoever to implicate myself." Padfoot waved his own wand and the door opened. "That also means, should you slip up and find yourself back in Azkaban, you can expect no help from me."

"I wouldn't want it anyway," Padfoot said.

Harry privately agreed but he elbowed his godfather nonetheless. Padfoot scowled. They walked Snape to the front door and then Padfoot passed him his wand and sent him on his way.

"Arse," Padfoot muttered, glowering at Snape's retreating figure. "'Expect no help from me'," he said in a bad imitation of Snape's drawl.

"I thought you said you didn't want it," Harry said, his lips twitching.

Padfoot huffed. "I don't. He didn't have to say it, though." He wrinkled his nose. "You know, I don't think he's washed his hair since I last saw him."

-()()()()()-

"And then," Padfoot said with tears in his eyes, "Prongs walked right up to Snivellus and sprayed him with shampoo!" Harry laughed. Snape's visit the day before had seemed to make Padfoot want to relive all of his Snape-based memories. Not that Harry minded in the least; he was happy to hear any stories about his dad, his godfather and - if Padfoot was to be believed - the man that was his 'godmother', Remus Lupin - who Padfoot assured him was not usually as he had been in London.

It troubled him a little to hear how cruel they'd been to Snape, but - with prodding - Padfoot had also revealed that Snape was capable of giving as bad as he got, if not worse. Still, having heard what he'd heard, he didn't find it hard to see why Snape had hated Padfoot and his dad, or why they had hated him.

"Here," Padfoot said.

Harry, who had been reading over the Black family tapestry - and given up on making sense of the unfamiliar names and instead begun counting the members (there were nearly five hundred) - glanced up.

"Er... thanks?" Harry said, peering at a cracked pair of reading glasses.

Padfoot chuckled. "Consider it an advanced birthday present."

"I know just where to put them too," Harry said, dropping them into the rubbish bag.

"You aren't keeping them?" Padfoot asked in falsely injured tones.

Harry snorted. "I'll keep mine, thanks."

"I think they were my grandmother's," Padfoot said with a shudder. "They'd probably bite or something anyway. Horrible woman."

"Seems to run in the family," Harry said. "Except for maybe Regulus."

"Yeah-Hey!" Padfoot spun, ready to grab him but Harry'd anticipated this and moved out of reach. "You evil, little-" Padfoot muttered.

"Little what?" Harry asked innocently.

"Boy. Evil, little boy." Harry grinned. "Here- Ow!" Padfoot said, dropping a silver snuff-box which appeared to have bitten him. He examined his hand, his expression curious; as they watched his skin turned brown and crusty. "Must be Wartcap powder, in there," he said finally, tapping his hand with his wand. He levitated the box into the rubbish bag. An Order of Merlin, First Class, awarded to Padfoot's grandfather followed it a moment later.

"Services to the Ministry?" Harry asked.

"He gave them a lot of gold," Padfoot said dismissively, gesturing for Harry to put it back in the bag.

There was another copy of _Nature's Nobility: A Wizarding Genealogy_. "How many of these things have you got?" Harry asked; so far they'd come across one in Regulus' room, one in the downstairs study, one in the library and now another one here.

"Who knows," Padfoot said, shrugging. "But any chance my mother had to remind herself of her spotless bloodlin- Oi!" A spindly, silver thing had just come crawling out of the cabinet and was trying to stab Padfoot with one of its pointed legs. He crushed it with the book; it let out a high pitched squeal before Padfoot picked it up gingerly and threw it into the rubbish bag. The book followed.

Kreacher let out a whimper. "There are two other copies in this house," Padfoot said, shooting the elf an irritated glance.

Kreacher had spent the majority of the morning standing in the doorway to see what they were throwing out. He'd made attempts to rescue things; some, like a photo of Walburga Black, Padfoot hadn't let him keep ("There's a massive one downstairs!" he'd said before ordering Kreacher out of the room), but others, like a golden ring that bore the Black crest, Harry had persuaded Padfoot to let him have. Kreacher had sobbed for almost five minutes when he learned it was his to keep forever and even bowed to Harry before he stole downstairs to tuck it away in his den behind the boiler.

"Eurgh," Padfoot said. "Look at this thing." A heavy golden locket landed in his lap. Harry shivered for no real reason. There was a large 'S' made of emeralds on the front of it but otherwise it was fairly plain.

Harry tried and failed to open it, frowned and tossed it back to Padfoot. "It won't open."

"It's probably just got a picture of my mother or grandmother in it," Padfoot said, but he couldn't open it either. "Ah well." Harry held the rubbish bag open and Padfoot lobbed it in. Kreacher wailed. "What?" Padfoot asked annoyed.

"The-the locket," Kreacher managed. He tottered into the room and scooped the locket out of the bag.

"Put that down," Padfoot said.

Kreacher dropped the thing immediately but it seemed to pain him. "Could Kreacher... keep the locket?" he asked Harry.

"We already gave you a ring," Padfoot said.

"Kreacher will give back the ring," Kreacher said, crawling over to grip the cuffs of Padfoot's jeans. "Kreacher will give back the book and the photo of Mistress Cissy and Mistress Bella if Kreacher can have the locket."

"No," Padfoot said. "The locket's going in the rubbish." Kreacher picked the thing up and clutched it to his chest. Padfoot wrestled it out of the old elf's grasp and Kreacher burst into tears. "Stop that," Padfoot said, irritated, tossing the locket back into the rubbish bag. Kreacher glared at him and then looked beseechingly at Harry. "You're not getting it," Padfoot said. The elf let out a croaking sob.

"Why do you want it?" Harry asked. "Why's it better than that ring?"

"Kreacher promised," the elf wheezed. Harry frowned and looked uncertainly at Padfoot, who was frowning too.

"Promised what?" Padfoot asked. "Tell me."

The elf quivered but couldn't disobey. "To destroy it. Kreacher promised Master, yes he did, but now he's failed, yes he has, and mean Master, nasty Master won't let Kreacher have it!" The elf threw himself on the ground with a wail.

"What Master?" Padfoot asked. "Kreacher, stop crying."

Kreacher sat up sniffling. "M-Master Regulus," the old elf wailed. A tear leaked out of one bulbous eye and he threw himself on the ground shrieking. "Bad Kreacher!" he croaked, slamming his head into the ground.

"Kreacher, sit still!" Padfoot ordered. "No more punishments unless I say so!" Kreacher froze and looked up at them both with red-rimmed eyes. "What did Master Regulus tell you?"

"To destroy the locket," the elf moaned, pulling the locket out of the bag. "Master Regulus-"

"Drop that. Yes, we know, the locket was Master Regulus'," Padfoot said impatiently. "I want you to tell me everything you know about this locket and what Reg had to do with it."

"Master," Kreacher said in a very thin voice, "was a naughty boy. Master broke Mistress' heart when he ran away to live with blood-traitors. Master Regulus was a good boy, and proud and happy and knew what was due to his bloodline and to the noble name of Black."

"Yes," Padfoot said, rolling his eyes, "we know."

"Master Regulus had been watching the Dark Lord for years," Kreacher said, almost reverently. Harry grimaced, thinking of all the clippings they'd stripped off the wall. "When Master Regulus was sixteen-"

"Seventeen," Padfoot muttered.

Kreacher and Harry both shot him dirty looks. "Master Regulus joined the Dark Lord and he was happy, he was proud to serve. And one day, a year after he joined, Master Regulus came down to the kitchen to see Kreacher and Master Regulus... Master Regulus said the Dark Lord required an elf."

"An elf?" Padfoot said, frowning at Harry, but his eyes weren't in focus.

"An elf," Kreacher agreed pitifully, "and Master Regulus had volunteered Kreacher. Master Regulus said it was an honour, for Kreacher and for Master Regulus, and that Kreacher must be sure to do whatever the Dark Lord ordered him to do, and then c-come home." Kreacher began to rock, his thin arms wrapped around his scrawny legs, his breath coming in pitchy gusts.

"So Kreacher went to the Dark Lord. The Dark Lord did not tell Kreacher what they were to be doing but Kreacher and the Dark Lord went to a cave. A cave by the sea, and beyond the cave was a cavern and inside the cavern was a lake. A great, black lake. There was a boat, and the Dark Lord and Kreacher used the boat to get to an island."

Harry was feeling nauseated. Padfoot looked uneasy. "Then what?" Padfoot asked in a quiet, almost gentle tone.

"There was a-a b-basin full of potion on the island." Kreacher trembled. "The Dark Lord made Kreacher drink it... Kreacher drank and Kreacher saw terrible things. Kreacher's insides burned. Kreacher cried for Master Regulus and for his Mistress Black, but the Dark Lord only laughed and made Kreacher drink it all... Kreacher drank the potion... the Dark Lord dropped a locket into the empty basin... He filled it with more potion. And then the D-Dark Lord sailed away, leaving Kreacher on the island."

Kreacher sniffed and wiped his running nose. "Kreacher needed water, he crawled to the island's edge and he drank from the black lake... and hands... dead, cold hands came out of the water and dragged Kreacher under the surface."

"Hands?" Padfoot asked sharply. "What hands?"

"Hands!" Kreacher sobbed. "Cold, dead hands!"

"Just hands?"

"People. Witches and wizards," Kreacher whispered, his eyes filmy.

"Inferi," Padfoot muttered, his mouth pulling down at the corners.

"What are Inferi?" Harry asked.

"Reanimated cor- Dead people who can walk and attack people." Harry's mouth fell open with revulsion. "Were they Inferi, Kreacher?" Padfoot pressed.

"Kreacher doesn't know. Kreacher never knew!"

"All right!" Padfoot said hastily. "How did you get away? Did you Apparate?"

Kreacher nodded his ugly head. "Master Regulus told Kreacher to come home, so Kreacher came home."

"What did Reg do?"

"Master Regulus was worried, very worried. He told Kreacher to hide and to stay in the house. One night, it was a little while later, Master Regulus came to visit Kreacher again. Master Regulus was disturbed in his mind, Kreacher could tell. Master Regulus told Kreacher to- to-" Kreacher sniffled and stopped talking.

"To what?" Padfoot asked.

"Kreacher promised. Kreacher promised Master Regulus... none of the family... Master... family."

Harry was confused but Padfoot seemed to understand. "Tell Harry," he told the elf. Padfoot caught Harry's eye. "If you're all right to hear the rest?"

Harry nodded. Padfoot left the room. "So...er... then what?"

Kreacher edged closer, his croaky voice coming almost silently. "Master Regulus told Kreacher to take him to the cave, the cave where Kreacher had gone with the Dark Lord. Krecher did and Master Regulus drank the potion... first he ordered Kreacher to swap the lockets and re-fill the basin... Master R-Regulus had a locket just the same as the Dark Lord's locket... and he told Kreacher the locket must be destroyed... made Kreacher promise..."

"Then Master Regulus drank it, drank it all and ordered Kreacher to leave... without him... to never tell Mistress... and Kreacher watched as Master Regulus was dragged... under the water... and... and..." Kreacher wailed and threw himself on the ground, fists pounding the carpet.

"Kreacher, sit up," Harry said. "What happened when you came home?"

"Mistress was sick with grief. Mistress didn't know why Master Regulus could never come home - all Mistress knew was that he wouldn't - because Kreacher had been f-f-forbidden, Kreacher had promised never to tell any of the family about what had happened in the c-cave." Both Kreacher and Harry turned to the locket at that point, where it was lying innocently on the floor by the rubbish bag.

"Kreacher tried to destroy the locket, Kreacher could feel its evil but nothing Kreacher did made any mark. Kreacher was sure the key to destroying the locket was to open the locket but nothing Kreacher did... so many powerful spells... Nothing worked... Kreacher _failed!_ "

"It's all right," Harry said, quickly. "We won't throw the locket out, I promise, all right?" Kreacher halted mid-sob and glanced up. "Do you know why Regulus wanted to destroy the locket?"

"Kreacher doesn't know. Kreacher only knows Master Regulus wanted it destroyed. Kreacher _tried_!"

"I know!" Harry said, trying to calm him down. "You've er... done very well. I'll erm... maybe I can talk to Padfoot - to Master Sirius - and see if he can try to destroy it."

Kreacher threw himself on the floor at Harry's feet with a wail. Harry petted him awkwardly on the head until Padfoot came back and gently but firmly sent Kreacher to his cupboard to calm down.

When Kreacher was gone, Harry explained what had happened in the cave. Padfoot looked exceptionally grim, and when Harry finished, he sat down on the couch and massaged his temples.

"Does Kreacher know the name of the potion he drank?"

"I don't think so," Harry said. "Why?"

"I was hoping to find an antidote for it."

"For Kreacher? It's a bit late, isn't-"

"For me."

"For you-?" Harry blinked. "You aren't going to try it?"

"I want to know what Reg was doing stealing Voldemort's necklace," Padfoot said with a shrug.

"Maybe he thought it looked nice?"

"It's ugly though." They both glanced at the locket. "Obviously it's important. Kreacher says it feels evil, and I don't know whether you noticed, kiddo, but you shivered when you touched it."

"I did?"

Padfoot nodded grimly. "I didn't think anything of it, but now... Look, whatever it is, it's important enough for Reg to die for, and if Kreacher's tried to destroy it, there's obviously some fairly dark magic keeping it alive."

"It's alive?!" Harry yelped.

"Not alive like you or me, but it's not a blackened piece of metal yet, either, is it? It's not natural." One of the emeralds flashed as Harry titled his head.

"Why's it so important?" he asked, picking it up.

"Voldemort hid it in a cave, on an island guarded by Inferi, in the vilest potion he could find. Obviously he thought it was worth protecting... Reg knew why, but he'd never leave that sort of information lying around."

"But he did," Harry said slowly. "There was that book- the book with the Dementor's Draught page marked." Padfoot frowned. "I'll bet you anything that's the potion Kreacher drank. And the other book, the one that had the locket in it, remember? You wanted me to look for that ring."

Padfoot stood and walked out of the room. When he returned, he was holding a pile of books - Harry could only imagine how he'd found them, given the disorganised state of the library - that Harry remembered from the day they'd cleaned Regulus' room. Harry reached for the one with the locket in it and Padfoot flicked through the potions book until he found the Dementor's Draught.

"It doesn't say anything about the locket being evil," Harry said. "It only says it was Slytherin's."

"So it's had something done to it," Padfoot mused.

"Regulus might have left another clue," Harry said, "or maybe Kreacher-"

"If Reg was going to leave any hints, he'd have left them with everything else. He probably thought it was too dangerous."

"But he had all these lying around," Harry said, refusing to be discouraged. "He might-"

Padfoot shook his head. "Dementor's Draught isn't that unusual - it used to be used as a sedative in Azkaban before they brought actual Dementors in. Its use was outlawed in the early seventies because its effects are stronger than those of a normal Dementor, but lots of dark wizards used it in the war. And Regulus liked to read, so a book on old wizarding artefacts wouldn't have seemed unusual, and neither would these." Padfoot waved a hand at the books on warding and defensive magic.

Harry slumped. "So he'd have kept it quiet? Whatever the locket is? He didn't tell anyone?"

Padfoot shook his head slowly. "That's not... No, I don't think so." Padfoot stood up suddenly and started to pace. "From what Kreacher's said, I don't think Reg was ever planning to get out alive..." Harry shivered at that, trying to imagine what it would be like to knowingly walk to his own death. "Why else would he take Kreacher with him but not make him drink it? No, he had to know or at least think it was a possibility and he'd want someone to understand why he did it..."

"Who?"

Padfoot was quiet for a long time and then, "Voldemort."

"Very funny."

"No, really," Padfoot said, slowly. "Who else _could_ he tell? Anyone he trusted would be in danger and why would he tell someone he didn't trust?"

"But Voldemort? If that locket's as important as you think, Voldemort would have killed him as soon as he heard!"

Padfoot frowned. "Maybe he told him afterward - delayed the message somehow..."

"What d'you mean?"

"If you had a secret, an important one, and you had to share it, but couldn't tell anyone, how would you do it?"

"Write it down?" Harry said after a few moments. "Did he have a diary or something?"

"No. I... er... I used to take it and read it and eventually he just gave up. Even if he had, I doubt he'd want Voldemort reading it..." They both shivered. "How about a note? Somewhere safe, where only Voldemort would find it."

"And information on where to find the note's not too dangerous to leave lying around," Harry said. "Is it? He might have left something - another note, a photograph, _something_."

"I'm going to have a look around," Padfoot said, standing immediately. "We didn't throw anything out that was interesting or unusual so chances are it's around here somewhere. You might go through everything we've been sorting today, just to make sure."

Harry turned to the bag of things they'd removed from the cabinet and rifled through. Nothing seemed even remotely significant and he tossed everything back in, disappointed. He glanced at the locket.

"What are you?" he asked it. It disdained to respond. Curious, Harry decided to try looking at it magically - after his success yesterday, he'd been looking at all sorts of things from a magical point of view. " _Ostendere me omnia_ ," he whispered, and felt his vision shift. The room came to life around him - the tapestry on the wall glowed a pale green, the rubbish bag a mix of silver, blue and maroon. Harry could see his own red and gold sparks.

And then there was the locket. Black, like a shadow, but it wasn't as if light was blocked, it was as if it was sucking light in. Green and silver flickered inside the black, so faintly that it was hardly there, and never in the same spot for more than a second. Harry dropped it, his skin crawling. Kreacher was right, though he hadn't really doubted it. It _was_ evil. " _Finite_ ," he muttered and the magic vanished - it was still there, but not to his eyes.

"What _are_ you?" he asked again. The emeralds glinted wickedly. Harry picked it up again and held it rather gingerly at arm's length as he tried to pry it open again. It didn't work. Harry frowned. "Open," he told it, frustrated. "Open. _Open_." It did, and so did the door.


	12. Chapter 12

Harry jumped and looked at the doorway but Padfoot wasn't there. Frowning, he turned his attention back to the locket and dropped it in surprise. There was an eye in each window, dark and intelligent, watching him.

The eyes sent a strange, tingling sensation through his scar. Harry was frozen. The eye flashed and turned red and slitted, and then it spotted Harry. He watched and slowly drew his wand out of his pocket.

" _Don't try it_ ," the locket hissed.

"What?" Harry asked, shocked.

" _The best you can hope is to shoot sparks at me, boy, perhaps not even that_."

" _Petrificus Totalus!_ " he said defiantly. Nothing happened.

" _I told you not to bother._ " A moment later, Padfoot's head bloomed out of the locket and his body followed. He was too solid to be a ghost, and he wasn't transparent either. Harry was still reasonably new to the whole concept of magic, but he was fairly certain this was _not_ normal. " _You're weak,"_ Locket-Padfoot told him.

"I-what?" Harry said, puzzled.

" _Can't even defend yourself against a locket. I don't know why I even bother."_

"Bother with what?"

" _With you, idiot boy. I only took you in to keep a promise to your father. It's not worth it. I should have left you with your Aunt. I'd take Azkaban over this. At least there I didn't have to put up with children and house elves."_ Harry frowned. " _Have I upset you,_ kiddo? _Let me guess, you miss your mother and father? I do too. And I actually knew them. Thanks to you, they're gone. You killed them. You're the reason they're dead."_

Harry shivered and his scar tingled again.

"Who are you?" he asked Locket-Padfoot.

" _I'm your godfather, Harry Potter_." Harry shivered again. Locket-Padfoot and opened his arms. " _Come here_ ," he said. Harry took a step backward. " _Harry, come here._ " Harry shook his head. " _Harry, now_."

"No," Harry said, taking another step back.

" _I just want a hug,"_ Padfoot said smoothly.

"Padfoot!" Harry called over his shoulder.

" _Stop calling me! I'm right here!_ "

If Locket-Padfoot didn't like it then Harry thought that was a very good reason to keep doing it. "Padfoot!"

" _Shut up!"_ Locket-Padfoot took a step toward Harry who threw another Body-Bind at him. The spell passed right through, as if it was smoke, though he looked far too solid for that. Locket-Padfoot reached for Harry, who dashed out of the door and slammed it shut. There was a thump on the other side. Harry put all of his weight against it, desperately trying to keep whatever it was contained. It thumped again, almost knocking him over. Another thump, and the door groaned. Footsteps. Harry tensed.

There was a loud - almost deafening - scream from the drawing room and then everything fell silent. Harry waited for a few seconds and peeked under the door. He couldn't see anything and it was still quiet so he tentatively took a step away. He waited and then when things were still quiet, pushed the door open.

The locket was sitting innocently in the middle of the drawing room floor, a few feet from where it should have been, and it was still open, the dark eyes watching his every move. He scratched his scar absentmindedly and took another step forward, wand still raised and then, suddenly, the locket snapped shut and all but blew the room apart. He was knocked off of his feet, back out onto the landing and lost track of things for a few moments.

Next thing he knew, Padfoot was leaning over him, face pale.

"Kiddo?" Harry's scar prickled and without thinking, he wrenched his arm free and rolled away, wand raised. "Harry? What's going on? I heard shouting and-"

"The locket," Harry said, rubbing his forehead. "I don't know how, or why, but it opened. You came out of it, you were talking to me, but it wasn't you..."

Both glanced into the drawing room, which had been destroyed. It was as if a bomb had gone off, but without the fire, if one didn't count the scorches on the walls from the burst lamps.

Things had been blown off the walls, the windows were shattered, as was the glass on the cabinets, the Black tapestry was lying in a crumpled heap on the floor, the couches had been overturned - one had a large hole in it, with stuffing pouring out - and the rubbish bag had exploded in a mass of paper, metal and little pieces of wood.

Glass crunched under Padfoot's trainers as he stepped into the room. He reached for the locket, swore loudly and then retracted his hand.

"What?" Harry asked, stumbling forward, wand raised.

"It's hot." Padfoot prodded the locket with his own wand and it floated off the ground to sit in the air between them. "What exactly were you doing?" he asked, examining the locket with narrowed eyes. It was unharmed.

"I don't know! I was just trying to open it."

"How?"

"I don't know!" Harry cried again. "I was pulling it but it wouldn't open so I got frustrated and _told_ it to open and inside- inside-" His eyes widened. "The note! Regulus' note!"

"You found it?" Padfoot asked, eyes wide.

"No- Yes- Maybe-"

"Harry, you aren't making any sense."

Everything seemed to be making perfect sense to Harry, though. "What if the note's in the fake locket?"

"Of course," Padfoot breathed.

"If it was just about taking the locket," Harry said, saying the words as they popped into his head, "he wouldn't have bothered with the switch. He _wanted_ Voldemort to find it."

"We'll have to go," Padfoot said.

"Go?"

"To the cave. Maybe Voldemort hasn't found the note yet-"

"It's been nine years," Harry said doubtfully.

"Yes, but he's been dead for most of them."

"But... if it's that important-"

"He wouldn't want to draw attention to it," Padfoot said. "If he'd gone skulking off to a cave in the middle of nowhere every few weeks, someone would have noticed. Even Death Eaters aren't _that_ thick. And, even if he _did_ check on it, who's to say he opened it? Even if there's just a word or two in there... something to go on. It'll be worth it."

"And if there's not? What if he's already been there and read it?"

"There's no way of knowing without being there," Padfoot said. "There's got to be a way of seeing if the locket's there before drinking the Dementor's Draught. If we do that and the locket's not there, we can leave again without disturbing anything."

"And if it is?"

Padfoot smiled grimly. "I spent seven years living with Dementors," he said. "I can handle it. Besides, Kreacher's been a few times now, and we've got all of Reg's old things... It's not like we're unprepared."

"We? I can go?" Harry asked, unable to believe his ears.

"Personally, I'd rather you stay here," Padfoot said. "But..."

"But what?"

Padfoot brushed Harry's fringe aside, revealing his scar. "But," he sighed, "you've probably got more of a right to be there than _I_ do."

"So I can go?" Harry repeated, stunned.

"There'll be rules," Padfoot warned. "You'll stay on the shore. You won't be allowed to come with me on the boat, or to the island." Harry opened his mouth to protest but Padfoot's expression said he wasn't open to negotiation and that was rare enough that Harry shut his mouth again and nodded. "You'll learn the spells I think you'll need."

"What spells?"

"I'll write a list," Padfoot said. "And lastly, if things go badly, like they did for Reg and Kreacher, and I tell you to get the hell out, you'll listen."

"And what, leave you there?"

"If it comes to it," Padfoot said, his expression unwavering.

"But-"

"Harry, if you can't handle it, you won't be going," Padfoot said. Slowly, Harry nodded. "Lovely," Padfoot said, clapping his hands together as if Harry'd agreed to wash the dishes instead of leaving him to die. The mood lightened so abruptly Harry felt a little startled. "Now, help me clean this mess up."

They spent the rest of the afternoon fixing the drawing room and setting up a safe place for the locket. In the end, Padfoot restored one of the drawing room cabinets and sent Harry to comb the rest of the house for other things they could put in there so the locket wouldn't stand out as much.

After that was done, Padfoot cast a number of spells on the cabinet to keep the locket safe; there was an Alarm Spell which would ring if anyone touched the cabinet, a Shield Charm to protect the cabinet or its contents from being damaged, a Permanent Sticking Charm on the cabinet's feet to stop it from being bumped, moved or stolen, a complex Locking Charm on the door of the cabinet, and an Attention-Diversion Charm on the cabinet to make it seem insignificant.

Even so, Harry didn't like it and was very much looking forward to finding out what it was and how to destroy it.

-()()()()()-

Two days later, Harry was in the library, poring over Regulus' old copy of _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade One -_ Padfoot's, Harry had learned, had been destroyed three days into his first year in an incident involving fireworks and James' owl, and his parents had refused to buy him another one - when Padfoot came in. He sat down across from Harry and fixed him with an unyielding grey stare.

"Are you all right?" Harry asked.

"Well enough," Padfoot said with a sigh. "Are you sure you want to come with me to this cave?"

Harry hesitated for a moment and then nodded. "Positive."

Padfoot sighed again, seeming unsurprised and pulled a scrap of parchment out of his robes. "Before you're coming anywhere, you need to know all of this," he said. "All right?"

Harry glanced over what was actually quite a comprehensive list:

\- _Fire-Making Spells_

 _\- Light Charm_

 _\- Severing Charm_

 _\- Stickfast Hex_

 _\- Body-Binds_

 _\- Trip Jinx_

 _\- Apparition_

"All of it?" Harry asked, his eyebrows shooting up. "I have to be able to Apparate?" Padfoot fixed him with a steady look and Harry sagged into his seat. "I was just checking."

"Some of it you might be able to learn on your own," Padfoot said. "Some, like the Light charm and the Body-Binds, you already know." Harry cheered slightly at that thought, but knew Apparition was going to be the hardest thing. He still struggled with the non-verbal magic-seeing incantation, for Merlin's sake! "The rest I'll teach you. Any questions?" Harry shook his head.

"Excellent. And," Padfoot said, "let's agree now that neither of us are going to get worked up over this. We'll go when we're ready, not before." Harry nodded, privately thinking that could be years from now if Padfoot didn't change his mind about the list.

"I don't want you missing sleep over this, or getting stressed. That goes for me too. If I seem worried - and that might just be because we've got the entire Ministry looking for us - feel free to give my nose a swat or hex me or something. And, if at any point you feel like you can't handle what we've got to do, you let me know. Deal?" Padfoot held out his hand.

Harry shook it. "Deal."

"Brilliant." Padfoot got up, browsed the library for a bit - all the while grumbling about the lack of organisation of the shelves - and then selected a heavy book called, _When The Dead Walk._

He shuddered at the picture on the cover and opened it, scanning the contents with a frown. Harry closed his book and shifted closer to his godfather so that he could read too. Padfoot flicked through until he found the page he was looking for and then pushed the book between them.

 _Inferi are corpses, reanimated to perform a sorcerer's bidding. Unlike Zombies, they have no ability to think for themselves, though they share the same rotting, grey skin, the same inability to articulate correctly and the same mainly-human appearance. Inferi are territorial and so make excellent guards, with the only person that is truly safe from them being their creator._

 _They are aggressive if provoked but are often selective with their victims, choosing to attack the highest perceived threat first. They are also resistant to many spells, curses and hexes due to their rotted nerve endings. Inferi are considered nocturnal and so will rarely be seen during day hours; sunlight along with fire is one of the few things able to hinder these humanoid creatures._

Below was a particularly graphic - moving - photograph of a witch being attacked by a tall Inferius. Harry shuddered, feeling sick, and even Padfoot looked revolted. The passage continued on but the Harry didn't understand what it was saying so he gave up on that and returned tohis book.

He flicked to the index and searched for Fire-Making spells. There was an entire chapter on elemental magic and while water, plant and ice magic wasn't going to be terribly useful, Harry thought wind magic would certainly be worth knowing, and so would fire. He read for at least an hour on the theory and then left to go and practice in the drawing room fireplace since the library one was already lit.

Making fire, as Harry quickly learnt, was remarkably easy, but controlling it was not. Padfoot managed to save the drawing room couches and Harry agreed rather sheepishly, that he'd use the training room in the future. A little surprisingly - or maybe not, given what Padfoot had done in his own childhood - he wasn't at all mad.

"Just disappointed," Padfoot said, examining the slightly scorched curtains. Harry felt like his stomach was in his feet. He'd have much preferred anger. "Next time you want to set something on fire," he said sternly, "at least _try_ to get that sodding tapestry."

Harry blinked and then a little disbelieving laugh slipped out of his mouth. Padfoot winked, ruffled his hair and headed back upstairs to the library, leaving Harry staring after him.

-()()()()()-

"Wotcher, Lupin," a cheerful voice said.

Remus turned, smiling. "Hello, Nymphadora- sorry, Tonks."

"Much better," she said, her hair returning to the purple it was today. She hesitated and then said, "I read in the _Prophet_ you found Harry Potter."

 _He's alive, he's alive, he's alive_... Those two words had been a constant mantra in his head ever since that day in London. "And that he escaped?" Remus asked ruefully.

"Yes, that too. It's true then?" Remus nodded, his good mood fading somewhat. "Poor kid."

"If the Ministry had been there five minutes sooner we would have had them both," Remus sighed. He was still incredibly annoyed over that and though he tried to keep it out of his voice, it still came through.

Nymphadora gave him a sly look. "Is that why you hit that Auror?"

Remus glanced at her sideways and smiled slightly. "It's remarkable how many people know about that." And it was, considering the _Prophet_ hadn't published that part of the story.

"Dad's with the Ministry," she said, shrugging. "Muggle Relations. He was one of the first people there after they took you."

"I see."

"Are you still volunteering, or are you not allowed to?"

"No, I'm still searching but Lucius Malfoy's becoming harder and harder to take orders from." He had begun to refuse letting Remus onto the Manor grounds and if Remus asked why, always responded with a smooth comment about not wanting a broken nose like poor Rufus Scrimgeour. They'd been conducting their meetings through the Manor gates, lately.

"I've met him a few times - he's my uncle, did you know?" Remus, who did know this, nodded. "Utter bastard and my aunt's a snob, or at least I think so. Mum doesn't seem to know what to think and Dad's smart enough to keep his thoughts to himself." Remus smiled slightly.

"Tonks!"

Nymphadora and Remus spun to face a boy in Slytherin robes. Remus' hand closed around his wand, just in case, but she didn't seem at all worried. "Wotcher, Tom!" she said brightly.

"Hi- Who're you?" he asked, spotting Remus. He seemed to be deciding whether to reach for his own wand.

"This is Remus Lupin," Nymphadora said quickly, apparently noticing Tom's wariness.

Surprisingly, he didn't ask anything more than that; Remus supposed he trusted Nymphadora's judgement, and thought, maybe, House rivalry might have died down a little... Or perhaps Tom was just an exception. "Have you seen Weasley?"

"Which one?" Nymphadora asked, looking mischievous.

Tom scowled. "Not Joseph. Why anyone would look for that git is beyond me." Nymphadora made a sound that Remus took to mean she agreed.

"You mean Roger?" she asked with eyes just wide enough to make Remus think she was up to something. Tom made an annoyed noise which confirmed his theory. "No? Well, let's try the cousins then... Percy?"

"Charlie," Tom sighed.

"Oh! You wanted _our_ Weasley." Tom pursed his lips. "He's with the girls," Nymphadora said. "Not sure where."

"Very helpful," Tom muttered, rolling his eyes. "Thank you... Nymphadora," he said, and took off without another word.

"Durban!" Nymphadora shouted. Tom threw a grin at her over his shoulder and kept running. "Slytherins!" she huffed.

"You're welcome to go after him," Remus said, beginning to walk again.

"I'll get him later," she said, shrugging.

"All right," he said, continuing forward. Nymphadora made a funny noise, as if to point out that Remus was walking toward a wall and then decided against it.

"Are you here to see Dumbledore?" she asked instead.

"Yes, I am," he said, lifting a tapestry that concealed a staircase that would take him up two floors. Dumbledore's office moved every year - Remus suspected it was to keep students and teachers alike on their toes - and this year, it was on the third floor.

"I never knew that was there," she said, her dark eyes widening. She followed him through, expression curious, but she stumbled on the step. She jumped right back up again, her hair a very pale pink, before Remus could even offer to help. "I'm horrendously clumsy," she sighed. "It's all my mother's fault." She glanced around with interest. "Where does this come out?"

"Third floor. By that suit of armour that swears at everyone," Remus said.

Nymphadora laughed. "Charlie learned everything he knows from that."

"He can thank James and Sirius," Remus said, smiling slightly. "They taught Rudy everything."

"Sirius... as in... Black?" Nymphadora asked hesitantly.

"Yes," Remus said bitterly.

"And James... not James Potter?" she asked.

"Yes, another of my friends," Remus said, smiling now.

"I think I remember him," she said thoughtfully. "He's Harry Potter's father?"

"Yes."

She nodded thoughtfully. "And Rudy?" she asked.

"It's self explanatory, really," Remus said, lips twitching.

"I don't... Rudy...?"

"Because he's rude," Remus said. He twisted his mouth. "Sirius has always had something of a fascination with name puns."

"He'd probably have a field day with mine," she said darkly. "Not that I'm ever intending to meet Mum's cousin, but still..."

"He used to say you were an 'adorable' child," Remus said, remembering suddenly.

Her mouth dropped open and her hair turned a bright, sunny yellow as she laughed. "Dora... adorable... That's awful!" she cried.

"It is. But when your own name's Sirius..."

"What was your pun?" she asked.

"I didn't have one like 'adorable' but he made up a rhyme at some point in first year." She watched him expectantly until he gave in with a sigh. "Loony, loopy, Lupin."

Nymphadora laughed. "That's one of Peeves' favourites!"

Somehow, that didn't surprise Remus. "James gets credit for that," he said, grinning despite himself. "James' pun had something to do with 'pottering' around - if he was walking too slowly, for example," he added, forestalling her next question. That joke had stopped in sixth year when James decided it might hurt his chances with Lily, but it had been earned a place in Sirius' speech at James' wedding.

"The three of you sound so funny," she said, smiling. Her mouth twisted a little. "Even Black."

"There were four of us, actually. Peter Pettigrew was our friend as well."

"The boy- man that Black...?"

"Yes," Remus said quietly.

"I'm sorry," Nymphadora said.

"It was years ago," Remus said. _Although it feels like it was yesterday._

Remus pushed a place on the seemingly solid wall in front of them and it slid open. "What the fuck are you doing there?!" Rudy demanded, his armour creaking. "Don't you sodding ignore me, you bastard! I asked what the fuck you were doing!" He shook his shield at them. "And you, slag! Come bloody back and look at me when I'm bloody speaking!"

"It seemed funny back then," Remus muttered as they rounded a corner, "but he's hardly setting a good example for the first years."

"He's made someone cry every year I've been here," Nymphadora said cheerfully. "And he bothers Filch terribly but Dumbledore says he's a part of school history and all that..."

Remus shook his head, unsurprised. "So how's school?" He'd last seen her in early April, but now, N.E.W.T.s were imminent, if they weren't already happening; he remembered the first week of June as an extremely stressful one.

"I had my Potions exam yesterday," she said, smiling. "I think that went well enough; it was free choice on what we brewed so I did stages one to four of the Wolfsbane Potion. I was going to do one to four of Veritaserum but three people in my class chose that, so I went for something a little different."

"Impressive," Remus said faintly. "I-I've heard it's rather complex."

"It's not too bad," she said thoughtfully. "Stage five is probably the hardest and I didn't have to do that."

Remus managed to swallow. "What's next as far as exams go?"

"Charms tomorrow," she said. "Transfiguration the day after – which is easy, thank Merlin! - then Defence and Herbology on Friday."

"So you're just revising today?"

"Procrastinating, really," she sighed, waving a hand at Remus. "I told Alfred I'd meet him in the library straight after breakfast to go over Charms but here I am, talking to you."

"Tell Alfred I'm sorry," Remus said apologetically.

"He won't even notice. He's mooning after Jaquiline Gamp but everyone knows _she_ fancies Pius Thicknesse."

"I see," Remus said, having no clue who any of these people were.

"Honestly, I think it's ridiculous, fussing over who fancies who like we're eleven again." She threw her hands up in the air and her hair turned an odd shade – like a mix between green and orange. "If someone likes someone, they should just come out and say it."

"Blunt," Remus observed.

"I want to be an Auror, not a politician," she said with a shrug.

"Are you sure?" Remus asked, grinning. "You seem to have some fairly strong opinions."

"Positive," she said with a shudder. "And I don't think that I have 'strong opinions'. I just think that people should act their age."

"You act far older than seventeen," Remus said.

"No, I don't," she said, her hair turning pink. "It just seems like it because everyone else is busy acting like first years."

Remus disagreed, but couldn't be bothered trying to argue, since they'd reached the stone gargoyle that was the entrance to Dumbledore's office. "Lupin," the gargoyle said. "Password?"

"You're on first name terms with Dumbledore's gargoyle?" Nymphadora asked, impressed.

"Don't ask," Remus said, flushing slightly. "It has a lot more to do with James and Sirius than it does with me."

"I remember Potter and Black! Say hi to them for me, would you?" the gargoyle said.

"Er..." Remus said, his eyes darting to Nymphadora's uncomfortable expression. "Sure."

"I'll see you later," Nymphadora said holding out her hand. Remus shook it, giving her a warm smile - and tried to ignore the way her eyes widened as she took in his scars, though thankfully she didn't comment - and then she set off down the corridor, tripping a little on the hem of her robes.

"Do I have to wait for you all day?" the gargoyle complained.

"No, sorry. Lemon Drop."

"Kept me waiting for nothing. And here I was thinking you didn't know the password..."

"You'd have let me in anyway."

The gargoyle winked and leapt aside. The wall behind it parted, revealing an extremely familiar stone staircase. Remus stepped on, and a moment later found himself standing outside Dumbledore's office door.

He reached for the brass knocker but a deep voice called, "Come in!" before he had a chance to touch it.

Shaking his head, Remus stepped into the office. "Good morning, sir," he said, shutting the door.

"Ah, Remus! I thought perhaps you'd got lost!"

"No, just distracted."

Dumbledore chuckled. "Have a seat, dear boy." Remus conjured himself an armchair and sat. "Would you care for a sweet?"

"No, thank you. I just had breakfast."

-()()()()()-

"Draco," Mother said mildly.

Draco stopped playing with the buttons on his waistcoat at once. "Sorry, Mother," he said, letting his hand fall to his side.

She gave him a gentle smile. "Do make an effort tonight."

"I will," he said, waiting until she turned away to grimace.

"Draco, I mean it," she warned, turning back to him. "I don't want a repeat of last time. I couldn't look Audra Crabbe in the eye for weeks."

"It was one pudding," he protested weakly. "I didn't even _mean_ to blow it u-" Mother caught and held his gaze. "Yes, Mother," he said, picking at his silver-embroidered waistcoat. "I'm sorry. It won't happen again."

"I should think not," she said coolly.

"Now, now, Narcissa," Father said, striding into the drawing room. He was dressed similarly to Draco, in black trousers, a black waistcoat embroidered with silver and long black robes. Hydrus walked in after him, dressed in an identical garb to Draco's, but green instead, like Mother's dress robes. "Accidents happen to the best of us." His eyes met Draco's identical ones. "Isn't that right, son?"

"Yes, Father," Draco said, relieved. "I promise it won't happen again."

"Speaking of promises, Father, I know Bosworth will behave," Hydrus whined, petting the rat who was in its usual place on his shoulder.

"I've said no," Father said crossly. "Take him upstairs and leave him there." Hydrus let out a loud, angry noise and stomped back upstairs. "Go and fix your hair," Father told Draco.

"Yes, Father," Draco muttered and fled. He walked quickly - not daring to run but Father was in a bad mood - out of the drawing room, down the corridor to the foyer and then up the large staircase, down another long hallway and into his bedroom. He crossed the room, ignoring Roquefort's squeaks from inside his cage, and ducked into his bathroom.

His reflection stared back; a thin face with a pointed chin and his father's grey eyes. His father's face, just like Aunt Bella had said during their last visit, though not quite as blank. _I'm getting better at it, though,_ he thought proudly. _Better than Hydrus, anyway._

He reached for the little silver pot on the marble bench-top and scooped up a lump of gel. "Bit much, isn't it?" his mirror asked.

"No," Draco snapped, sleeking a loose hair into place. When he was finished, he looked just like the photographs he'd seen of his father at a young age. Even his expression matched; calm and content, if a little bored. _Good, now-_ CRACK! "Dobby!" Draco gasped, jumping away from the little elf. "Don't _do_ that!"

"Dobby is sorry, young Master," the elf squeaked, sinking into a hasty bow that made his ears flap, "but Master is sending Dobby to be getting young Master and is telling him to be quick, sir."

"I'm going as fast as I can," Draco said, annoyed.

"Master is saying now, young Master," Dobby said, his huge, green eyes wide as he wrung his filthy pillowcase.

"All right," Draco snapped. He grabbed the elf's skinny forearm and his bathroom spun, distorted and then disappeared altogether to be replaced by the drawing room. Draco stumbled, gasping for air, but a strong hand on the back of his robes didn't let him fall. Dobby vanished again.

"And you remember my youngest; Draco," Father said, squeezing his shoulder to the point that it was painful. Draco blinked, his vision readjusting.

"Yes, but not so young anymore; happy birthday, Draco," fat, old Roderick Crabbe said, scratching his pointed beard.

"Thank you," Draco said politely; he wasn't supposed to add a 'sir' when he was talking to the Crabbes or Goyles because they weren't purebloods, although they liked to claim otherwise.

Audra nodded. "He was responsible for the pudding incident, was he not?" Draco's cheeks burned but his father's hand wouldn't let him move an inch.

Mother laughed loudly. It was a high, tinkling sound, like ice shattering. "I'd forgotten about that," she said bestowing Audra with a smile. The other woman returned it before her attention was claimed by two-year-old Cyril. Mother shot Draco a pointed, though not angry, look.

"Do you remember my Vincent, Draco?" Roderick asked.

"Yes," Draco said, casting a wary glance over at his brother and the stout boy with a pudding-bowl haircut. They'd met a number of times in the past; Draco wasn't terribly fond of the larger boy but he'd always gravitated toward Hydrus so it wasn't an issue.

The fireplace flared green and tall, square-jawed Ernest Parkinson stepped out, followed by his thin, sickly-looking wife Sonja and his daughter Pansy who had dark hair like her father, big brown eyes like her mother and a button nose that came from neither parent.

They'd just finished greetings when the Greengrasses arrived; rotund, little Marius, his beautiful wife Parmenia and their daughters; Daphne was the eldest - the same age as Draco - blond with a long face and her twin sisters Astoria and Vivienne who were a year younger.

They both had dark hair but the similarities ended there; Astoria was tiny in height and build while Vivienne was taller - almost as tall as Daphne - with blue eyes quite unlike Astoria's hazel.

The Notts arrived shortly after; old, silver-haired Leopold, young, brunette Eleanor and her daughter Catherine. Theodore wasn't Eleanor's son - his mother had died a few days after he was born - but he was there too; he was a lanky boy with an overbite who was a few months older than Draco.

Everyone wished him a happy birthday with varying degrees of sincerity and Draco nodded politely and thanked them all accordingly. The Gamps - the biggest pure-blood family aside from perhaps the Weasleys - weren't coming for which Draco was grateful; where the Weasleys had sons, the Gamps had daughters and they were giggly and annoying and Draco didn't want them at his birthday dinner.

Hamish was the only male Gamp and he was older than Draco and preferred his sisters' and cousins' company. Last were the Goyles - who had never been on time as long as Draco had known them.

The Bulstrodes weren't going to be there either, but that was okay because Millicent terrified Draco; she was big enough to eat him if she wanted to, but she was also much smarter than people assumed. She'd told him she was more Slytherin than he was, and Draco, in anger, had accidentally blown up his pudding. The worst part was he thought she might be right, even if neither of her parents had been Death Eaters like Father.

"Terribly sorry, Lucius," Aloysius said, stepping out of the fire. He was a thin man, cleanly shaven and with little hair left on his head. "Clementina's running late again. How are you, Roderick, Ernest, Leopold?" There was a general murmur of 'good'. "Oh! And Marius! How are you? I didn't see you there."

"I'm well, thank you, Aloysius," Marius said, bowing his head.

"Mother's on her way," tall, solid Gregory grunted as he clambered out of the fireplace. "Happy birthday," he said to Hydrus.

"It's not my birthday," Hydrus said, rolling his eyes. "It's Draco's."

"Happy birthday," Gregory said, turning to Draco, who simply nodded.

Aloysius watched his son with a grimace. "Shall we adjourn to the dining room? Clementina will find her way there, I'm sure."

Everyone held their breath. "You would do well to remember that this is _my_ house," Father said dangerously, "and therefore my place - and not yours, Aloysius - to make such statements." The room had gone deadly quiet. Aloysius opened his mouth to say something but Gregory shook his head once, and then he shut it. "Shall we adjourn to the dining room?" Father asked silkily.

"Yes," Parmenia said with a gracious smile that diffused the tension. "Come, Marius, girls."

"Hydrus, lead the way," Mother said with a strained smile.

"Yes, Mother," Hydrus said with a charming smile.

"Draco, see that Dobby's keeping to schedule."

"Yes, Mother." Draco ducked out the right side door while everyone else went left. He walked down the dim hallway and down the cellar stairs. He entered the cellar - Draco didn't think he'd ever known it to hold wine, though - and headed through the adjacent door quickly, not wanting to linger since there was something about the cellar that he'd never liked; it was always very cold down there, and it was always darker than anywhere else in the Manor. He walked - because Malfoys didn't run, Father had said - down another corridor and then through another door into the kitchen.

"Young Master!" Dobby exclaimed bowing, as Draco perched on the edge of the worn wooden table in the centre of the room.

"Mother said to ask if you're on schedule," Draco said, sniffing curiously at the room; the oven was glowing orange and he could smell fresh bread, potato and meat. There was a pot of something delicious simmering on the stove and a set of knives were slicing carrots, tomatoes, lettuce, cucumber and the like on the bench.

"Mistress could have called Dobby," Dobby said, shaking his head. "Young Master shouldn't have tired himself. Dobby knows how the young Master doesn't like the cellar."

"I'm not scared of the cellar," Draco growled.

The little elf patted his knee tentatively before tottering over to check the soup. "Young Master can tell Mistress Dobby will be ready in time, sir," Dobby squeaked, clicking his fingers to send the vegetable knives into the sink (which was currently filling with soapy water).

"Good. And get rid of the tomatoes. I don't eat them." Dobby made a little sobbing noise and hurried over to the chopping board.

Draco was able to slip into the dining room unnoticed, just like a good host should. The only person who seemed to realise he was there at all was Hydrus, who rolled his eyes and went back to his spiel about broomsticks. Theodore seemed genuinely interested but neither Vincent or Gregory seemed to have much idea what was going on. Draco went and sat in the empty seat between his brother and Daphne.

"We've both got Comet two-sixties," Hydrus boasted, glancing around at the other children. "Father wants us ready for the house team."

"At Hogwarts?" Gregory asked, frowning.

"Of course at Hogwarts, you idiot!" Draco said.

"Or Durmstrang," Hydrus said. "Father's still trying to talk Mother into it." Draco was quietly certain that in this, Father wouldn't succeed. Mother didn't often argue with him, but when she did, she won.

"I didn't think first years were allowed on the house teams," Theodore said tentatively.

"They are at Durmstrang," Hydrus said.

"Everything's allowed at Durmstrang," Daphne said, rolling her eyes.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Draco asked.

"Just that Karkaroff is more relaxed than Dumbledore is," Daphne said, tossing her hair over her shoulder.

"Are you really going to Durmstrang?" Pansy asked unhappily, staring from Draco to Hydrus.

Draco shrugged. "Wherever we go, we'll be playing Quidditch."

"Clarice says first years aren't allowed broomsticks," Astoria said primly.

Hydrus snorted. "Father's very influential at the school. If we do go to Hogwarts, he'll apply for a position on the Board of Governors."

"Can he do that?" Theodore asked, looking awed.

"Of course," Draco said, waving a hand. "All this business with Harry Potter's put him in Dumbledore's good books. I bet I'll have a place on the team before I've even unpacked my broomstick. And who's Clarice?" Pansy rolled her eyes and started up a different conversation with Hydrus.

"Our step-sister," Daphne said proudly. "She and Bertram were from Mother's first marriage." Draco sneaked a glance at Parmenia Greengrass, who was tracing the back of her husband's hand while she laughed at a joke Clementina was telling. "How old are they?"

"They'll be fourteen in on the twenty-fifth of June," Astoria chirped from beside her sister. "Clarice is going to be an Unspeakable and Bertram's going to be a professional Quidditch player."

"What position?"

"Chaser," said Vivienne. "And if he doesn't get in, he'll be a reporter for the _Daily Prophet._ "

"Perhaps he'll work with Father on the Harry Potter search," Draco said.

Vivienne glanced at Father and frowned. "Perhaps," she said.

"Are they going to find him do you think?" Astoria asked looking nervous. "They say he's dead."

"Who, Harry Potter? The _Prophet_ says he's dead," Draco said, rolling his eyes. "Shows how much they know. I don't think he's dead, and neither does Father."

"Mother and Father say he's powerful," Daphne whispered. Vivienne nodded.

"He is," Draco said. "Father thinks he'll be the next Dark Lord."

"Is that why Sirius Black took him?" Daphne asked.

Draco shrugged, fairly sure that he wasn't supposed to know as much about Sirius Black as he did. "Do I look like Sirius Black or Harry Potter to you?" he asked instead.

"No," Daphne said.

"Then why in Merlin's name would I know?" he asked coldly.

"There's no need to be rude about it," Astoria said, folding her arms. "She was just asking."

Draco ignored her. "What makes you think I'd know?" he asked again.

"Well, your father's involved," Daphne said condescendingly. "Anyone with the intelligence of a Mountain Troll might think you knew _something_."

"Well, I don't," Draco said, using his frosty voice to mask his lie.

"Oi! Greengrass."

All three girls turned around. "Which one?" Astoria asked.

"Daphne. You're hoping for Slytherin, right?" Hydrus asked.

She shrugged. "Either Slytherin or Ravenclaw."

"Told you," Theodore muttered.

"How did you know?" Vivienne asked, sounding interested.

He shrank under everyone's scrutiny. "It's not hard- Everyone here wants that."

"I don't want to be in Ravenclaw," Hydrus drawled.

Draco nodded. "I want Slytherin."

"There's nothing wrong with Ravenclaw," Vivienne said, and Astoria nodded angrily from the chair beside her. "Mother thinks I'll be a Ravenclaw."

"And I suppose you're looking to go there too?" Pansy asked Astoria, looking mildly revolted. She'd never liked the twins much.

"I won't be in Gryffindor or Hufflepuff," Astoria said coolly. "I'd be happy with either of the others. You're thinking Slytherin, aren't you, Theordore?"

"Yes," Theodore said and then hesitated and added, "but Ravenclaw's not a bad alternative." The twins beamed. Draco rolled his eyes; if Father had seen _him_ doing that, he'd have been subjected to lessons on how to control his facial expressions. Clearly the Greengrass family weren't as proper as they'd used to be. "Vincent, Gregory?"

"Slytherin," both grunted.

"Me too," Pansy said loudly, not wanting to be forgotten. "Mother was a Ravenclaw but I'd _hate_ to be put there," she said with a nasty glance at Astoria and Vivienne. "Ravenclaws are weak." All three Greengrass girls and Theodore made noises of disagreement. "They are," Pansy said, watching her mother with narrowed eyes; Sonja Parkinson had just returned from the bathroom looking paler than usual and a little clammy. "They're weak." The others exchanged glances - Pansy's mother was sick and there was nothing the Healers could do for her - and stayed silent.

"Well," Daphne said with a cautious glance at Pansy, "I suppose this little group will be sticking together. That's nice, isn't it?"

"'That's nice, isn't it?'" Draco drawled, mimicking her. "Are you sure you're not angling for Hufflepuff, Greengrass?"

The others - except for Daphne, who blushed - laughed. Draco leaned back in his chair, smug and completely content.


	13. Chapter 13

Charlie leaned forward so that he could see around Alison Pemberly's head; she'd played chess and then Exploding Snap with them until about an hour ago and then she'd gone unnaturally quiet and turned toward the window.

Dawn Carter, the soon-to-be-former Head Girl had been unabashedly sobbing for the last half hour, much to the amusement of everyone in the compartment, though the ribbing had been more subdued than in previous years; even Tom Durban - a Slytherin - had only made a few jibes before shuffling over to put an arm around her.

Charlie glanced at the buildings which were becoming more and more frequent and then settled back into his seat again, scratching Canis' ears for good measure. Tonks' little cat purred and leaned into the touch and Tonks herself peered over the top of the book she was reading and glared at them both. The cat stopped purring immediately and glared back until Tonks hid behind her book again.

Charlie, determined to make the most of his remaining time on the train, pulled out his sketchbook and - with a few pats as coercion - was able to rest it on Canis. He flicked through to his half-finished dragon and - once he'd located his stick of charcoal - added another line that would form the basic structure of the dragon's wing.

He frowned and added another line and then moved the book back a little. He muttered a quick spell to siphon the charcoal off and tried again. After the third repeat of this, Tonks huffed noisily and yanked the book out of his grip. Canis made a swipe for her hand but missed.

"Oi!"

"This looks fine to me," she said, examining the sketch.

"Hold it up," Charlie said. She did. He stared at it with narrowed eyes and then nodded. "That's actually not bad," he said,

"For a Gryffindor," Tom drawled.

Charlie grinned. "You should put your reading glasses on, Durban. If you could see it properly, you might appreciate it for the work of art it really is." Tom chuckled.

"Oh, so now you like it?" Tonks muttered. Charlie winked at her and tugged the sketchbook from her hands. He added spines down the dragon's back and along it tail and was just shading the wing membranes when Dawn let out a particularly loud sob and the train slowed noticeably.

Tonks stuffed her book into her trunk and pulled it down from the luggage rack - almost knocking Alison's head off in the process - and snatched Canis off of Charlie's lap. Before the little cat could even realise it was his despised owner that was holding him, Tonks had stuffed him into his wicker basket and shut the lid. A furious hissing came from inside but she latched it without any trouble.

By the time the train had come to a complete stop, everyone's things were down, making for very little leg-room and Dawn and Alison actually climbed over Tom's trunk to reach Tonks. Tonks looked surprised; the only time she and the other girls had ever spent much time together was in the library, studying, or on train rides, like this, but she accepted the hugs with a bemused smile and the girls hugged Charlie, waved at Tom and then went on their ways.

Tonks and Charlie were the last to leave because Charlie knew she'd have no hope of navigating the train until most of the students were on the platform.

"That's it," Tonks said with a sad little smile as she and Charlie hopped off the train.

"Not for me," Charlie said, passing Canis' basket down to her. It hissed as Tonks grabbed it and she poked her tongue out at it. "I'll come to see Perce and the twins off next year and then Ron two years later and Ginny the year after that."

"Not if you go dragon-taming," she said with a smile. "Norway, isn't it?"

"Romania," he said. "And that's a big if. Bill had to fight for days to let Mum let him go to _London_."

"London and Romania aren't that different," Tonks said thoughtfully. Charlie gave her a disbelieving look. "They're not. I don't think it matters where you are, it's the fact that you're not home."

"Maybe," Charlie said, not quite convinced. He reached out and caught Tonks as she stumbled over a first year. Canis hissed again from his basket.

"Sorry," she called cheerfully as the boy flushed and hid behind his parents. Charlie laughed. "Oh, shut up."

"Nymphadora! Hey, Nymp-"

"Call me 'Nymphadora' one more time..." Tonks muttered, spinning around. Her blue hair turned purple and then red. She sighed when she spotted Booth and Williams fighting through the crowd to get to them and her hair went back to blue.

"So they get away with calling you by your first name?" Charlie asked, playfully indignant.

"They're Hufflepuffs," she muttered. "They're too polite to know better." She tugged his Gryffindor scarf, tripped on her own feet and nearly strangled him with it. Charlie gasped. "Gryffindors," she said recovering, "on the other hand, do it for the thrill."

"Thrill?"

"Oh, come on, there's always a very good chance you'll get an earful or a hex. How many detentions did I get this year?"

"Less than in previous years," Charlie said.

"Still considerably more than you," she said, proudly. "Wotcher," she added as Booth and Williams appeared beside her.

"Hi, Nymph- er- Tonks, sorry," Williams said.

"Hi," Booth said.

"Weasley," Williams added. Charlie supposed these two were to him what Dawn and Alison were to Tonks; friends of hers and therefore friends of his, but only really by association.

"Hey."

"Charlie! Charlie - oh, sorry, Ron - Charlie, over here!" Charlie could see Mum and the rest of the family - minus Dad and Bill - waving frantically from beside a pillar.

"That's me," Charlie said, grinning. He waved back to let Mum know he'd seen them, gave Tonks a quick hug and nodded at Booth and Williams. "I'll see you all later."

"Make sure you remember to write!" Tonks said at once. "If you don't, I'll write to Tom and make him make you write back!"

"Tom won't write," Charlie laughed. "When's he ever answered a letter?"

"Even more reason for you to write. Between the pair of you-" Tom wanted to be a dragon Healer and would probably go to Romania with Charlie. Charlie was glad he'd have a familiar face there, and thought Tom was too, but Tom was too much of a Slytherin to admit it. "- I want a letter a week! I don't want to have to go all the way to Norway-"

"Romania."

"Whatever. It's still a long way away and I don't want to have to go all the way there just to give you a talking to!"

"If that's what it takes to get you to visit..."

"Prat."

"Bye, Canis," he said, tapping the basket. The cat mewled curiously. Tonks scowled and he hissed.

"Shut up," she said, giving the basket a little shake. She gave Charlie one last hug and then vanished into the crowd with the other two.

Charlie parted a sea of fourth year girls and made his way toward his family. Before he could reach Mum, however, a small, skinny figure collided with him. "Charlie!" Ginny cried.

"Gin," he said, ruffling her hair. She flattened it and pulled away, wrinkling her nose. He scooped her off the ground and tossed her over his shoulder easily, like he would with his broom on the way back from practice. She squealed and kicked. Charlie pretended to the struggle was too much and set her down again, puffing dramatically. "What happened, kiddo? You've grown since Christmas!"

"I'm taller than Ron now," she said happily, seizing his hand.

"With the way he eats? I don't believe it."

"It's true," she said, towing him toward the rest of the family. "Look." She released him and went to stand beside Ron and was indeed taller.

Mum hugged him tightly and then fussed over his hair. "Dad's come straight from work - he'll meet us at the car."

"He didn't have to do that," Charlie said, touched.

"He wanted to," Mum said, smiling. "Oh, Charlie, I can't believe I've got two sons out of school!"

"You've got lots of sons out of school," Fred pointed out, ushering her out of the way so he and George could hug Charlie. "It's holidays."

"But when it's not-" Mum said.

"You've still only got Perce," George said. "We haven't started yet and neither's ickle Ronnikins."

"They call you ickle now?" Charlie asked, laughing as he turned his attention to his youngest brother. Ron wore an odd expression – as if he didn't know whether he wanted to smile at Charlie or scowl at Fred and George – but the grin won out, splitting his freckled face.

"Yeah," he said a little ruefully. "I'm the shortest Weasley."

Charlie hugged him. "You're the shortest male Weasley," he corrected. And privately, he didn't think it would be for much longer; Bill, Percy and Ginny had always been tall and thin for their respective ages, though Bill was about average height now and he suspected Ginny would stop growing early and be short like Mum. He and the twins had always been shorter and stockier. Ron fit into neither group; he seemed to have gained a little weight – his face was a little rounder than Charlie remembered it being at Christmas – but if that weight was there to stay, Tonks wasn't a Metamorphmagus. "Ginny's the shortest female."

"Ginny's the _only_ female," George said. Ginny scowled.

"I don't know," Fred said. "If Perce grew his hair out..."

"Where _is_ Percy?"

"Dunno," Ron said, straining to see through the crowd.

"Don't bother looking," Fred told him.

"Yeah," George said, grinning, "leave that to the taller Weasleys."

Ron made a face and then said, "There he is!"

"What?" Fred demanded.

"Where?" George asked.

"Clearly height isn't everything..." Ron said slyly as Ginny dashed off into the crowd.

Five minutes later they were all - well, minus Bill but he'd be there for dinner - off. Mum, Dad, George and Ginny sat in the front seat; Ginny was on Dad's lap and kept moving so he had to look around her to see the road. George was watching Dad drive with a shrewd expression, and every now and then he would turn and share a look with Fred. If Charlie didn't know better, he'd swear they were trying to learn how to drive the thing... And then he shook his head; playful as the twins were, he didn't think they'd try anything like that.

Charlie himself was between Percy - who was looking out the window, clearly missing school already - and Ron who was talking animatedly about a trip to Diagon Alley.

"-in the Leaky Cauldron and this boy fell out of the fireplace, right."

"Right," Charlie muttered, not really listening.

"Well, we didn't think anything of it at the time but do you know who it was?"

"No, do tell," Charlie said, yawning.

"It was Harry Potter!" Ginny shrieked from the front seat. Dad jumped and had to swerve at the last moment or he would have crashed the car.

"Ginny! Not while your father's driving!" Mum said crossly.

"Sorry," Ginny said, not looking sorry at all. She climbed over George, over the back of the seat and wedged herself in between Ron and Fred. "Tell him about it, Ron," she said, her brown eyes bright.

Charlie was listening with interest now; he knew quite a bit about the Potter-Black case because Tonks wanted to be an Auror and had often regaled him with newspaper articles. Ron nodded eagerly. "So he came out of the fireplace and talked to us for a bit and then he left and I went to the bathroom but when I came back, I walked right into him again. He was wearing his glasses this time, though, and I recognised him and he told me not to tell and then some lady saw him too and then he ran."

"We were interviewed and everything," Ginny said huffily. "I thought the reporters were so rude. He seemed really nice and all they care about is a story for their silly paper."

"We didn't tell them anything," Ron said proudly. "And then Mum got in a fight with a reporter that tried to follow us home."

"It was wicked," Fred said. "She had her wand out and everything."

"Didn't know you had it in you, Mum," Charlie said, impressed. Mum looked rather flattered.

"What else has been going on?" Percy asked.

"The gnomes are back," Mum sighed.

"Dad helped Ron and I-"

"Ron and me," Percy corrected. Fred booed him.

"Dad helped Ron and _me_ ," Ginny continued, smiling at Percy, "build a house for them in the backyard."

Charlie grinned. "Can you show me when you get home?"

"First thing," Ron said, nodding. "But the painting's bad."

"Blame Ginny for that," Fred said.

"It looks like a Unicorn threw up on it," George said. "All bright and sparkly."

"It looks nice," Ginny said defensively. Fred, George and Ron exchanged looks.

"I'm sure it does," Charlie said, shifting so he could grin at Dad in the rear-view mirror.

-()()()()()-

"No more school work," Alfred said. "And do you know what?"

Tonks pulled her eyes off of Charlie - who'd just been hugged by his little sister Ginny - and laughed. "What?"

"I'm actually going to miss it," Alfred said, pulling a face.

"I'm not," Keith said. "I'm going to join our local Quidditch team and teach the younger kids how to play."

Alfred's eyes brightened at that. "Do you reckon I could help?" Alfred, Tonks knew, wanted a job in the Department of Management and Control of Magical Children.

"Sure," Keith said, shrugging.

"Brilliant- Oh, that's Bec." He waved at a tall girl with short blond hair - Alfred's younger sister Louise was there too - hugged Tonks, shook Keith's hand and dragged his trunk toward them.

Tonks waved at Rebecca who smiled and waved back; she'd been Head Girl in Tonks' fifth year. "It's nice of her to come and get them," she said.

Keith shrugged. "She doesn't have much choice, since Alfred failed his Apparition test."

"She could have made them catch the Knight Bus," Tonks pointed out.

"I guess." He fidgeted, looking quite nervous. "So, got any plans for the summer?"

"I'm spending some time with Mum and Dad," Tonks said, smiling at the thought. "Mum's offering a few galleons if I help her out at the bank so I might do that for a bit and Dad says I'm always welcome at the station so I'll probably be there quite a bit too. How about you?"

"Quidditch, like I said," Keith muttered. He scuffed his trainer on the ground and then looked up hopefully. "I was wondering, though, if you'd like to catch up at some point?"

"Of course!" she said. "We aren't about to fall out of contact, Keith."

"Great," Keith said, smiling.

"Just send me an owl or something to say you aren't busy." She checked her watch and made a face. "I've got to go - I told Dad I'd be there by five..."

"Yeah, that's fine. I told Mum I'd help her with dinner." They hugged and then he vanished into the throng of students and Tonks headed back toward the train.

She used the window as a mirror and lengthened her hair until it rested on her shoulders, made it brown and changed her eyes to a nice blue - the same colour her hair had just been. She left her face as it was - pale and heart-shaped - returned her nose to its usual shape - small and buttony - and then, willed a smattering of freckles into existence. She examined herself critically, shrugged and grabbed her trunk.

She knew it would be easier to Disapparate from the platform, but nostalgia made her want to walk out into the muggle world one last time, so she set off through the crowd.

 _This is it,_ she thought sadly, facing the wall. She took a last glance over her shoulder at the scarlet steam engine and then squared her shoulders. She lifted her trunk and Canis' basket and strode through. A muggle man gave her an odd look and then shook his head and walked away. _It's funny how muggles go out of their way to ignore magic_ , she thought, smiling slightly as she headed through the station.

"Are you still there?" she asked Canis, who hissed again. "You're just lucky I didn't leave you at school," she told him. He hissed again. "Yes, well I don't like you much either."

"Mother, we're late!" a little girl screeched, hauling her mother toward the barrier Tonks had just come out of. "Bertram and Clarice are probably the last ones there!"

The mother, a tall, willowy woman with dark hair - the little girl looked a lot like her, but smaller - sighed and said, "Go ahead then, Astoria, and let them know we're on our way."

"Why does _she_ get to go?" a blond girl demanded as the little one ran off with a delighted yell.

"You're welcome to go too," the woman replied calmly. The blond gave the woman a suspicious look and ran after the little dark-haired girl. "Are you going too, Vivienne?"

"No," said the third girl who was also dark-haired. "If Clarice gets more time with Edmond, she'll be happier all holidays."

The woman laughed. "Is that so?"

"Yes," the little girl said matter-of-factly. She saw Tonks looking and smiled. Tonks smiled back and then collided with something soft and dropped Canis' basket. It burst open and the cat stuck his head out and glanced around the station before darting away.

"Watch it!" a heavy man with a bushy moustache said.

"Sorry!" she said, righting her trunk.

"As you should be," an equally large woman said. "Youths these days! No respect for anyone anymore. She's as bad as that boy of yours-"

Tonks prepared herself to be berated, but the man's expression changed dramatically at the mention of this mysterious boy. He seemed to forget about Tonks altogether.

"He's gone!" the man said brightly as they walked away. "Clearly you haven't been reading the papers, Marge..."

Tonks picked Canis' basket off the station floor and set it on top of her trunk. "Here," the girl said, holding Canis out.

"Thank you," Tonks said. Canis hissed at her and sank his claws into the girl's jumper. "Sorry," she said, prying the little cat free. "He's not very well behaved."

"What's his name?"

"Canis."

"That's a funny name."

"Vivienne!" the woman said, looking embarrassed. "I'm terribly sorry-"

"It's all right," Tonks said cheerfully, stuffing her cat back into his basket. She winked at the girl. "I gave him a funny name on purpose." She smiled and the mother seemed to relax a bit. "Thanks again," Tonks said, gathering her things.

The pair continued towards the platform, while Tonks headed out of the station and into muggle London. She pulled her trunk and Canis' basket down an alley, checked for muggles and then Apparated into a storage room in the studio. Canis yowled, making her jump.

She swore and steadied the box of tapes she'd almost knocked over. Tonks spent a moment in the darkness with her ear pressed up against the door and once she'd decided there was no one there, stepped out into the bright hallway.

She was waiting by the lift - Canis was still grumbling in his basket - when it opened and three people stepped out. Two were very professional looking, a man and a woman, both with short, sleek hair and pinched expressions. The third stopped when he saw her. "Dora!" Jim said, giving her a bright, very white smile.

"Jim!" Tonks said, delighted. He and Dad had worked together since she was born and she'd spent a lot of time in the studio as a kid. She dropped her trunk so she could give him a hug.

"I thought you might have been too old for hugs," he said, letting her go.

"Never," she said. "How've you been?"

"Not too bad, thanks," Jim said. "Dawes - you know Kevin Dawes, the weatherman?"

"I think Dad's talked about him," Tonks said, frowning.

"Dad's talked about him..." Jim said, shaking his head. "Of course he has; he's the longest serving weatherman in London!"

"When did he join the station?"

"A few years back," Jim said. He shook his head. "Anyone would think you didn't watch the news."

"I don't always," she said, shrugging.

"You must be in the minority. My brother can't pull his kids away from the television. Anyway, Dawes is retiring in March and he's training me up to take his place." He straightened his tie importantly.

"Brilliant," Tonks said.

He smiled. "I'm looking forward to it – I've only done the weather a few times, and most of those were years ago, before Dawes worked at this station. Here, we're blocking the hall." He picked her trunk up and led her down the corridor. "I hear you've just finished school?"

"I have."

"Makes me feel old," he said ruefully. "I still remember when you were five and wore that big knitted hat everywhere."

Tonks was startled into laughter. "I remember that," she said; until she'd turned seven, she hadn't had proper control of her Metamorphmagus abilities and had had to wear the hat everywhere to cover her hair, which had been - and still was - the part of her that changed most readily.

"You wouldn't take it off, even in summer," he said fondly. "So how's it feel?"

"What? Being free of the hat? It's great."

"No, you duffer. Finishing school."

"Oh." She laughed. "A bit sad, really, but I think I'm ready to face the real world."

"Know what you're going to do?"

She tried to remember the name for muggle law enforcers and couldn't. A conversation from a few weeks back drifted through her head. "Politics," she said, to buy herself time. _And it sounds like that, too... pilates? Pol-something..._

"Politics? You? Really?"

She laughed. "No, not really. I was thinking I might join the police force."

He chuckled. "Now that I'll believe. Here we go."

Tonks blinked at the door that said _Ted Tonks_. "It's moved. When-?"

"Last week," Jim said. "Some idiot from advertising decided he wanted a better office so your dad swapped."

"Why?"

"Because Parker would have quit otherwise and he's too valuable," Jim sighed. "Ted doesn't mind much, I don't think. He's only here on afternoons anyway." He knocked and pushed the door open.

"That and the less space I have, the tidier I have to be," Dad said as they walked in.

Tonks took one look at the desk and smiled. "Dad, you don't know how to be tidy."

Dad hugged her. "I do so."

"I've never seen it," she said. She cleared a little patch on the desk and put the basket down. "Besides, I'm a slob and I certainly didn't get it from Mum."

"True," Dad said. His eyes landed on Jim and he chuckled. "Oh, Jim, you didn't need to carry that. You should have made her do it."

"It's fine, really," Jim said. "Besides, she carried the cat." Canis hissed to remind everyone he was there.

The phone rang. Dad had to shift several folders and his briefcase to get to it. "Ted Tonks speaking," he said. "Yeah, there's room." He gestured wildly with one hand. Tonks recognised the old gesture and grabbed a blank sheet of paper and a muggle pen and passed them to him. He smiled and fumbled with the lid. "Mmmhmm." He scribbled something down and then paused. "No!"

"What's happening?" Tonks whispered but he waved a hand to quiet her.

"Yes... Yes... Yes, send through the details... No, but I'll see what I can do... All right. Thanks, Sean." He hung up and let out a gusty breath.

"Sean Green?" Tonks asked. Sean was an old school friend of Mum and Dad's. He was a Slytherin - cunning to the core and talented, according to Mum - but the few times Tonks had met him he'd been nice too, and had no prejudices against muggles or muggleborns. A lot like Tom, really. To prove that, he'd gone into Muggle Liaisons, like Dad had, and he worked part-time with the Ministry and part-time with a muggle newspaper, to moderate what wizarding events muggles were exposed to, and how those events were presented.

Dad nodded. "Did you see anything suspicious when you were at the train station?"

"No, why?"

"A woman was at... erm... killed."

"Where?!" Tonks asked. "At the station?!"

"Just outside," Dad said, looking pale.

"Did they catch whoever did it?" Jim asked.

"No. He disappeared." Dad met Tonks' eyes. "Right into thin air." She nodded to show she'd understood. "But they're looking."

Jim shivered. "It's uncanny how criminals do that. Anyone would think they were magical or something."

Tonks baulked and clamped down on her instincts before her hair could turn bright pink for embarrassment, or perhaps white for shock. "Let's just hope our side have magic too, then," Dad said with an easy smile. He pulled a stack of papers toward him, added a note about the death, checked his watch and then said, "I'm on in five."

"Tie," Jim said as he stood.

Dad adjusted the offending article - it was black with little gold-yellow diamonds on it to show his house pride - and combed his hair out of his face with his hand.

"Tuck the back of your shirt in," Tonks said critically.

Dad rolled his eyes. "I'll be sitting down anyway," he said, even as he fixed it.

The three of them left Dad's office, though they said goodbye to Jim just before reaching the set - he needed to find Dawes before he went on.

"So what happened?" Tonks asked, nervously.

"A woman was taken."

"Taken by who?"

"Greyback," Dad said, his eyes flashing. Tonks closed her eyes for a moment. "Someone recognised him and contacted the Aurors. They're looking now. She'll either be found dead, or found bitten."

"Why are you telling everyone she's dead, then? She might be alive!"

"She's a muggle," Dad said heavily. "They've got half the Ministry searching and the other half trying to cover everything up; she's been declared dead in the muggle world, which is what I've got to present tonight and I'm supposed to ask her family to come to a police station tomorrow, where they'll speak with a team from Muggle Liasons."

"That's awful!" Tonks exclaimed. Dad nodded grimly. They set off again, only to turn a corner and stop when they spotted a woman hovering near the studio entrance. "Mum?" Tonks said.

"Surprise," Mum said a little sheepishly, glancing at Dad.

"I didn't know you were coming!" Tonks ran to her mother and hugged her. Next thing she knew, both of them were on the ground.

"Was that you or me?" Mum asked.

"Both," Dad said helpfully, pulling them to their feet.

Tonks laughed but Mum squawked and flapped a hand. "Hair!" she said. "Nymphadora!"

"Sorry, sorry!" She scrunched up her face and her hair went back to the shoulder-length brown style it had been before, though it was tinged with red - from her mother's use of her name. She always relaxed around family - or magical folk in general, really - and found her Metamorphmagus abilities behaved accordingly.

Mum gathered her up in another hug. "I can't believe you're finished. It's going to be so wonderful to have you back at home again."

Tonks exchanged an exasperated look with Dad but she tightened her arms around Mum. "You'll get sick of me being around," Tonks assured her. "Eating all your food, getting in your way, making the house messy..."

"Your father already does all of that," Mum said fondly.

"You'll be out of a job," Tonks told Dad, who chuckled.

"I'll manage."

"How was the train ride home?" Mum asked. "I'll bet you're starving; I remember the food coming early-"

"You're fussing, Dromeda," Dad said with a smile.

"I've got my baby girl home," Mum said, folding her arms. "I'm allowed to."

"Baby?" Tonks asked. "I'm legally an adult!" Mum and Dad both gave her amused looks and then Dad wrapped an arm around Mum and led her down the corridor to the set. Tonks followed behind, muttering to herself about babies and delusional parents.

-()()()()()-

Harry landed with a thump. Padfoot jumped and fell off his chair. "What the hell just happened?" he asked, disgruntled.

Harry was a little winded but couldn't feel any other damage. "Hit the wards," he gasped, managing to sit upright. After learning that Padfoot and Harry intended to destroy the locket, Kreacher had all but reversed his personality; he was now fairly polite - though he still had his moments - had taken on all of the cooking and cleaning there was to be done, and with a lot of coaxing from Padfoot, agreed to come with them to the cave.

He'd also become a much better Apparition instructor, and Harry, had managed to Apparate for the first time last week, almost two and a half months after he'd started learning. Finally, the daily lessons were beginning to pay off; he'd been able to repeat the feat several times, but not with any consistency yet. _Finite._

"Are you hurt?"

"No."

"Good." Padfoot clambered back into his chair and shooed Harry off the table. Grinning Harry climbed down, retrieved his wand from the ground and thought, _Ostendere me omnia_. His vision flickered and in addition to what he could see with his eyes, he could see his magic, Padfoot's, the faint white glow, flecked with Harry's red and gold where he'd tried to Apparate before, and more on the table where he'd landed, covering an oblivious Padfoot. There were streaks of pale red hanging in the air where Padfoot had Summoned books the day before and then there was the web of wards.

Fiercely intricate - stranded with thin lines of murky green-black that was Padfoot's dad's magic - and the red that belonged to his godfather, there were more shades than Harry had ever seen and would ever be able to name. It was like a skin made of a thousand different fibres, clinging perfectly to the roof, walls and floor, but it was also _alive_ , rippling and pulsing and every now and then, a hole would appear and be gone a second later. He didn't need a second though, if he timed it right.

Harry steeled himself, one foot already beginning to twist. Another hole appeared, just above the door and Harry spun on the spot, mentally throwing himself at it, the rest of his mind already focusing on the ground floor study. Harry swore when he hit a hard surface and again when he bounced off of it and landed on the carpet. _Finite._

Feeling rather dizzy, he made a mental note to thank his godfather for his much-expanded vocabulary. He picked himself up off the ground, rummaged through the desk for a few rolls of parchment, grabbed two quills and an inkwell, stuffed the whole lot in his robe pockets and then mentally murmured the spell that would let him see magic. He waited and then leapt through a fluctuating gap in the warding, hoping to make it back to the library.

"Oof!" For the second time in as many minutes, Padfoot found himself on the floor, though this time, Harry was there with him.

 _Finite_ , Harry thought and the magic vanished to his eyes. "Sorry," he said, laughing as Padfoot lifted him off.

"Not a prob-" Padfoot made a funny choking sound and then doubled over, laughing.

"What?" Harry asked, emptying the contents of his pockets on the table.

"You've left your eyebrows and eyelashesbehind," Padfoot chortled.

Harry lifted a hand and traced his forehead. The skin was completely smooth, or at least lower down was – his scar was still there. His eyelids were smooth too. He patted his ears to make sure they were still there - he'd done that the day before last - and while Padfoot had re-attached it without any trouble, it still itched terribly. "Can you fix it?"

"Nope," Padfoot said without even looking up.

If Harry had had eyebrows, they would have arched. "What do you mean?"

"Well, kiddo, 'nope' is synonymous with 'no' which is basically a way of me saying I can't or won't do something. In this context-"

"I meant why not?"

"Ah, but you didn't say it." Padfoot grinned at him and the sight of Harry caused him to start chuckling again. Harry's eyes narrowed. "And I can't fix it because I don't know any hair growth charms."

"None?" Harry asked.

"Actually, that's a lie: I know one hair charm, if you're interested..." Harry watched him expectantly. Padfoot tilted his head and watched Harry thoughtfully. "You know, a beard might actually suit you..." Harry clapped his hands to his chin and turned away before Padfoot actually did it. Padfoot just laughed.

Harry retreated across the room, keeping a hand in front of his face the entire time and up and down one of the bookcase-walls, searching for a book that might help. _Beauty Fixes, Finishes and Flourishes To Have Your Wizard Fantasising_ seemed like an unfortunately named book but did contain a whole chapter on the eye and eyebrow region of the face.

Harry passed the book to Padfoot who glanced over the page before pulling his wand and muttering the incantation. Harry's face itched horribly and his eyes watered - growing eyelashes wasn't exactly pleasant - and then it stopped. His forehead started to tingle as Padfoot cast another spell, and then the sensation faded. He lifted a hand to feel the results.

"It feels okay," he said tentatively.

Padfoot glanced at him and frowned slightly. "I think your left eyebrow might be a little bit wonky," he said critically, and with a slight grin. Harry frowned and reached up to touch it again. Padfoot's grin widened and then he glanced at his stomach which had just growled loudly.

"Do we have any birthday cake left?"

"Dunno," Harry said, shrugging, but all thoughts of wonky eyebrows vanished and a small smile forced itself onto his face; three days ago, it had been Harry's ninth birthday. Harry hadn't really known what to expect - Dudley was always horribly spoilt, and had been given thirty presents from his parents alone last year (a figure which would undoubtedly have risen this year) while Harry was lucky to get even a pair of socks.

He thought Padfoot, like the Dursleys (although Padfoot was certainly nicer about it), had done more than enough for him already, giving him a place to live, clothes - new ones, to replace most of Dudley's awful ones - food and had also been giving him magic lessons.

As a result, Harry had been stunned when Padfoot presented him with a large supply of sweets, several books of spells, an Auror-quality target dummy and a new pair of trainers. The sweets alone had cost more than all of the presents Harry had ever received from the Dursleys and to top it off, Padfoot had had Kreacher help him bake and ice a birthday cake, which they'd surprised Harry with after dinner.

"Kreacher!" Padfoot called. The elf Apparated in and Padfoot requested birthday cake for both of them. Kreacher bowed and even made an odd facial expression that might have been a smile before vanishing so easily that Harry could only watch enviously. _Kreacher_ didn't leave his ears or - though he didn't have them - eyebrows behind.

Padfoot seemed to know what he was thinking; he was very obviously fighting a smile. Harry made a face and flopped down on the couch where he'd been that morning. This morning, he'd been reading _Simple But Effective Spells For Sticky Situations_ \- which had been one of his birthday presents - but Harry could only spend so much time with his head in a book each day, so instead he played with the solid gold puzzle they'd found in Orion Black's office.

Padfoot said it had belonged to Regulus when he was a few years younger than Harry, and that when one put all the pieces together, it formed a small snake that would slither when touched. Harry, however, had been trying for quite some time and was yet to make anything that even faintly resembled a snake and it was frustrating him as much as his attempts at Apparition.

"How's it going?" Padfoot asked as Harry tried to force two jagged, circular pieces together. Harry glowered at him. "Oh, _that_ well?"

"Shut up."

"There's always reading," Padfoot said. "Can't be too prepared, you know." Harry threw a piece of the puzzle at him, but even as Padfoot threw it back and he lifted a hand to catch it, those words rang in his ears and Harry's stomach gave an unpleasant jolt at the reminder of what was to come.


	14. Chapter 14

Harry's insides relaxed and he let go of his godfather's hand. _Finite_ , he thought quickly; there was magic everywhere, in every colour, shape, style and concentration he could imagine and it was almost overpowering.

The extra sight dropped away and he glanced around curiously. The streets were nearly empty with only a few local witches and wizards drifting between stores. None spared either Harry or Padfoot any attention.

"Nicely done," Padfoot said, looking around with a strange expression. He ran a hand through his short, blond hair. "It hasn't changed a bit."

"Is that the Shrieking Shack?" Harry asked, nodding to a dilapidated building, which rested alone – far away from any of the other buildings - on a hill above the rest of the village.

"It is," Padfoot said. As they watched, a roof tile slid off and shattered in the grass.

"And that's where you and Dad and Moony and Peter went to transform?" Harry glanced at the boarded windows, and wondered if Padfoot, James and Moony had put them up to keep other witches and wizards away while they were Animagi.

"It was like our hideout, yeah," Padfoot said after a pause. Harry knew he was leaving something out but didn't say anything. "I'll take you inside sometime." But not today, Harry knew. They had other things to do today. "Come on, Honeydukes is this way." Harry took another curious look around and followed his godfather.

"What does the incantation ' _Pedis Offensio'_ do?"

"Tripping jinx," Harry answered promptly.

"Wind charm?"

"Er... ' _Ventus'_."

"If I wanted to make something explode..."

"' _Bombarda'_ ," Harry said after a moment. He hadn't actually managed that one yet, but Padfoot said he was close.

" _'Diffindo'_?"

"Severing Charm."

"Stickfast He-"

"That's... er... Oh! ' _Colloshoo'_ ," Harry said.

Padfoot stared at him for a moment, nodded once and waved Harry into a brightly coloured store. Inside was incredible. Harry didn't know where to look first. Padfoot grinned at the sight of Harry's face and pressed a galleon into his hand.

"Buy what you want." Harry hardly dared to believe his luck.

"You're joking?!" he said.

Padfoot gave him a patient smile. Hardly able to believe his luck, Harry darted off to look at one of the displays. He'd been given Chocolate Frogs and a bag of Sugar Quills for his birthday, but the rest of the sweets were all new to him, although he had heard of Bertie Botts because Padfoot had told him once that he and James had fed the bad ones to other students between lessons. After they'd charmed them to resemble the good ones, of course.

He prodded at a box of Bellyflies – ' _Flutter realistically inside your stomach for hours!' –_ and then went to investigate a lollipop the size of his head, which changed flavour as it was eaten. In the end, Harry bought a little of everything.

"Someone's got a sweet tooth," the woman at the counter said, chuckling when Harry deposited a large box of Chocolate Frogs, a tin of Bertie Botts, a pack of Droobles, four Liquorice Wands, a bag of Fizzing Whizbees and packet of Sherbet Witch's Hats on the bench.

"Like father like son," Padfoot told the witch, obviously meaning James, but she didn't know that; Padfoot had his arms full with four massive blocks of chocolate, an enormous box of Bertie Botts, a handful of Chocolate Frogs and a large Cauldron Cake.

He shifted his bounty and passed the witch another galleon. They stuffed their purchases into Harry's rucksack - which was almost overflowing - and made their way out into the warm streets.

Padfoot offered Harry his arm. Harry took it, feeling a little relieved that he wouldn't have to get them back so soon after Apparating them there. Padfoot spun on the spot.

They landed on Number Twelve's doorstep. Padfoot tapped the door once and it swung open. Harry kicked it shut once they were both inside and then Padfoot removed the Appearance Alteration Charms they had on.

The hall was much nicer than it had been when they'd first moved in; they'd gotten rid of that atrocious umbrella stand and Padfoot had charmed the lamps on the walls and the large overhead chandelier to turn on whenever someone walked in – that way, it wasn't dark all the time. The lamp light also reduced the severity of the dark green wallpaper.

They'd removed the worn carpet altogether and discovered floorboards underneath, which they'd spent hours polishing and repairing. No matter what they tried, one floorboard just inside the door always squeaked and they'd given up on that, deciding Padfoot's father had charmed it to give warning of visitors, and that it might actually be useful.

Padfoot had moved the portraits of his ancestors - all save for his mother whose portrait was they hadn't been able to get down - to the linen cupboard upstairs. Kreacher's den had been relocated to the same place and he was thoroughly enjoying the larger space and the company of generations of Blacks.

"Kreacher!" Harry called. Mrs Black opened her mouth but Padfoot yanked the curtain back into place before she could articulate as much as 'filth'. CRACK! Kreacher sank into a bow at the sight of the two of them, still a little stiffly but Harry suspected that had more to do with his age than anything else. "We'll leave after lunch," Harry told him.

"Kreacher will be ready," Kreacher said reluctantly, wiping his bony hands on the pillowcase Padfoot had given him to replace his loincloth. His attitude toward Padfoot was steadily improving and while there were, of course, strained moments between the pair – and Harry thought that was why Padfoot hadn't asked for Apparition lessons from the elf yet, so as not to destroy their fragile neutrality – and lingering qualms from Padfoot's childhood, most of the animosity was gone. Harry suspected it had a lot to do with the regularity and quality of Kreacher's cooking.

"Good," Padfoot said. He stopped suddenly and Harry almost walked into the back of him. "Have you been cooking?" he asked delightedly.

"Kreacher is making food for hungry Master and the brat-" Kreacher smiled at Harry almost cheekily as he said it and Harry grinned back. "-oh yes, Kreacher is a good elf." Harry perked up at the mention of food. Padfoot was already halfway down the hall, heading for the kitchen stairs.

"Thanks, Kreacher," Harry said, thrilled, and sprinted after his godfather.

Kreacher was already there when he arrived, serving Padfoot sandwiches and pouring juice. Harry sat down, accepted a glass from the elf and dug into his own lunch. He was nervous but he pushed that down; he'd need all his strength for what they were about to do.

Despite knowing that, however, both Harry and Padfoot were only able to eat half of what they usually would and Kreacher didn't eat at all. The elf's movements were getting shakier and his croaky voice shriller with every passing moment.

"Empty your rucksack," Padfoot told Harry, taking a nervous sip of his juice. "Just leave the sweets on the table and we'll sort them out when we get home."

Harry did that, keeping only three of the enormous blocks of chocolate in there; the fourth he gave to Padfoot who opened it, fumbling with the wrapper.

While Padfoot ate, Harry filled a thermos with hot chocolate, and then filled three water bottles and added them to his rucksack too; Kreacher had said there was no way to conjure water in the cave so Harry and Padfoot were going to try to carry it in.

And, if the water evaporated, there was always the hot chocolate, which would hopefully help to fight the effects of the potion; chocolate reduced the effects of Dementors after all. Harry also sent Kreacher upstairs to retrieve the container of fireworks they'd bought the day before.

Padfoot pulled his mirror out of his robes and murmured, "James Potter." James appeared as he always did, smiling and laughing. "Today's the day," Padfoot told him, his voice lacking its usual on-the-verge-of-laughter quality.

Padfoot told James everything; Harry often heard him talking to the mirror at night. James couldn't speak back, but that didn't seem to matter, because he was there.

"Hi, Dad," Harry said softly. James waved.

Padfoot swallowed. "Wish us luck," he said. James laughed soundlessly. Padfoot glanced at Harry who was watching the mirror hungrily and then pocketed it.

Finally, they were ready.

Padfoot, who was wearing Harry's rucksack, took one of Kreacher's shaking hands and Harry took the other. Kreacher twisted on the spot and Harry felt himself being pulled.

"Urgh!" he heard, and a splash, then a squeak and Padfoot cursed.

"Is this it?" Harry asked, opening his eyes. He couldn't see a thing but he could hear water gurgling quietly, hear Kreacher's nervous breathing and hear his own voice echoing. He shivered. Kreacher made a terrified wheezing sound from somewhere to his right.

" _Lumos,_ " Padfoot breathed. Pale wandlight lit the cavern. The walls were damp and caught the light, glittering in a way that made Harry shiver again. Padfoot was clambering out of a small pool in the ground with a wary expression on his face and dried his wet legs with a quick spell. Harry lit his own wand.

" _Ostendere me omnia_ ," Harry whispered. He knew he didn't need to say it aloud but his own voice was better than the eerie silence. He ignored his red and gold, Padfoot's crimson and Kreacher's pale green and focused on the new magic.

His mouth fell open. Lines of green and sliver pulsed on the stone, like veins. Harry immediately recognised it as the same magic that he'd seen in the locket, only there had been black in the locket and there wasn't here.

"Where now?" Padfoot asked Kreacher.

"There," Harry and Kreacher said together, pointing to what Padfoot must think was a blank stretch of wall. "It's... glowing," Harry murmured; there was far less green magic there, only silver, extremely faint however, and in the shape of an archway.

There were peculiar splatter marks too; some were pale green and some a misty silver - different to the rest of the silver, which was glittery. Though he'd never seen the misty silver before, both it and the green were strangely familiar.

"So the pool is the way out?" Padfoot asked.

Kreacher nodded. "The Dark Lord is making Kreacher swim the first time, through the crack in the rock. When Master Regulus is coming here, Kreacher brought him straight to this cave."

"Why not just take us straight through?" Padfoot asked quietly.

Kreacher trembled. "The lake is always changing," he whispered. "Never in the same place. Kreacher is not wanting to disturb _them_ , oh no!"

"All right," Padfoot said. "How do we get through, then?"

"The way is hidden," Kreacher croaked. "But it opens for blood."

"Blood?" Harry asked, paling. _So that's what the splatter marks are... The green is Kreacher, I think... and the silver... Regulus?_

Padfoot wrinkled his nose but didn't seem overly fussed. "Where?" was all he said.

"I can-" Harry began, but Padfoot just rolled his eyes.

Kreacher guided him over to the wall and then Padfoot pointed his wand at his palm and said, " _Sectum_." A line sprung up on his hand, red to Harry's normal eyes, and bright, constantly moving scarlet to Harry's magic-enhanced vision. Padfoot smeared his palm on the rock and then healed the injury with a tap of his wand: " _Sana. Novum Cutis_."

There wasn't even a scar left, but the silver of the archway flared so brightly that Harry snapped his eyes shut and mentally shouted, _Finite!_

When he opened them again, the archway was glowing dimly and then it simply vanished. He and Padfoot stared through the black opening; Kreacher let out a wail and latched onto the back of Harry's robes.

"Kreacher, you'll stay here," Padfoot said after a pause. Harry looked at him in surprise. "Look at him, he's terrified," Padfoot said. Harry found himself fighting a smile; that, if anything, showed how far Padfoot and Kreacher had come in the months since finding the locket.

"Master is... good... kind Master," the elf sniffled.

"I mean stay here, though. I don't know what state I'll be in when we get back but it's more than likely Harry will need help." Kreacher nodded, his ears flapping. "If something happens to me, your priority is to get Harry out, all right? _That_ is an order."

Kreacher sniffed. "Are you sure you're up for this?" Padfoot asked Harry. Harry swallowed and nodded. "We'll see you when we get back, then," he told the elf. With that, Padfoot strode through the opening. Harry darted through after him.

There was, as Kreacher had said, a lake and the water was so dark it was indistinguishable from the cave walls. The cave itself was so high Harry couldn't tell where it ended and so deep that he couldn't make out the far wall either.

What he could make out, thought, was a green glow - the island, presumably - right out in what was probably the middle of the lake.

Harry turned to get one last look at Kreacher but the wall had already sealed itself again. Padfoot turned to Harry, his face serious in the wand light.

"Don't touch the water," he said. Harry nodded. "I want you to stay here."

"Here?" Harry asked. His voice echoed into the still darkness.

"You agreed."

"Well, yeah, but-"

"Harry," Padfoot said sternly.

"I didn't think you were going to be alone! I thought Kreacher would go too-"

"He's told us both the stories enough times," Padfoot said calmly. That was true. Harry could probably tell it in as much detail as the elf could. "It'll be all right."

"But... what if it isn't?" Harry's green eyes scanned the cave mistrustfully.

Padfoot shook his shaggy, black head. "If something goes wrong, there's not a lot Kreacher would be able to do to help me." Again, Harry had to see the truth in that. He fixed Harry with another serious look.

"Remember what you promised." Harry swallowed and nodded. "And don't do anything stupid. If it comes to it, I want you to get out as quickly as possible. You'll have to pay with blood to get back to where Kreacher is, but you can do it. Get him to take you home. Wait until this time tomorrow night, and if I'm still not home, I want you to find Remus."

"Remus?" Harry repeated.

"There's a letter in my bedroom-"

"You aren't planning to die, are you?" Harry cried.

"No!" Padfoot said, so determinedly that Harry believed him. "No, I most certainly am not. I'm just making sure we've got a back-up plan. The letter will explain everything to him and it names him as your guardian. Do you understand?" Harry nodded. Padfoot slipped the rucksack off and passed Harry the container of fireworks. "Just in case you or I need a distraction," he said.

Once Padfoot had undone the Shrinking Charm on it, he put the rucksack back on. "It'll be all right, kiddo," he promised. Harry prayed he would be right. Padfoot tapped Harry with his wand and said, " _Frigus Ignis_." It was a Fire-Freezing Charm, so that, if it came to it, he could incinerate the place where he was standing and be unharmed.

Padfoot repeated the spell on himself, hugged Harry tightly and set off around the lake, keeping to the narrow path.

 _Ostendere me omnia_. The entire cavern came to life and Harry was not entirely surprised to see the wards and charms protecting this one were much stronger than they were in the cave they'd arrived in. The gaps in the wards were much, much smaller and did not occur as frequently as the ones at Grimmauld Place.

He was impressed Kreacher had managed to escape twice. The lake was another matter altogether; he could see the Inferi, ghostly shapes, floating just beneath the surface.

They glowed with magic - Voldemort's silver and green was there, as well as a pale colour unique to each of them - a different sort of pale than Kreacher's, though, Harry knew - that had surely been their own magic once upon a time.

Harry's eyes flicked to the swirling red mass that was Padfoot. He'd begun to walk rather peculiarly, with one leg kicking out over the ledge with each step. It took Harry a moment to realise he was looking for the invisible chain Kreacher had mentioned.

The chain though, wasn't invisible to Harry. He could see it, stretching under the water from a hook on the wall and quite a way down, it connected to a tiny boat.

"It's in front of you. Further. Further. About three feet in front of- there!" he called across the water. His voice wasn't loud but it echoed impressively and Padfoot jumped when he heard.

He thought he saw Padfoot nod - though it was hard to tell through the magic - and then he walked forward confidently and felt through the air until his hands clamped around the chain.

He tapped it twice with his wand - once to make it visible, once to raise the boat, Harry thought, if Kreacher's stories were to be believed and they were certainly right so far. Padfoot clambered in and the boat took off at once - Padfoot's yelp echoed too - toward the middle of the lake.

Harry watched, hardly daring to breathe until Padfoot was safely on the island. It was so quiet Harry could hear his footsteps as he approached the basin that Kreacher had told them about. There was a flash of red magic as Padfoot conjured a goblet and then he called, "Cheers!"

"Yeah. Cheers," Harry called back, his voice shaking slightly.

Everything was silent. Harry waited. After a few minutes, he heard a whimper from the island and a moment later, Padfoot screamed. His magic was flickering more than usual, Harry noticed, and felt his worry peak. It went quiet and then Harry heard a quiet groan and Padfoot talking.

"No worse than Dementors..." floated across the lake to Harry's ears. Then, "I didn't mean to! Prongs, I'm sorry. Lily...!" He whimpered again. Harry heard a thump as he took off the rucksack and the sound of a lid unscrewing, though he wasn't sure if it was a water bottle or the thermos. "No worse than Dementors," Padfoot insisted. His hoarse voice echoed through the cave. He moved to fill the goblet again. And then another. And another after that.

He was on his seventh, and Harry was just wondering how full the basin was when there was a flash and a clatter. "Padfoot?"

"Oops," Padfoot said and then there was a heavy thump; the red dropped closer to the island.

"Padfoot!?" Harry shouted. He clapped his hands to his mouth but none of the Inferi-lights showed any signs of moving. There was a long silence. _No, please, no. No, no, no, no, no, no, no-_

 _"_ I'm all right, kiddo," Padfoot called back, his voice sounding extremely weak.

Harry let out the breath he'd been holding. "Are- Are you finished?"

There was a scuffling sound and Padfoot's red moved over to the basin, then, "No."

"You have to keep drinking," Harry told him.

"I don't want to."

"I know, but you have to. That's why we ca-"

There was a clink and a slurping sound. "I can't," he called pitifully.

Harry wondered if there was any way to send the boat back to the shore so that he could get to the island. After a moment's thought, though, he was forced to concede that - if it was even possible - he didn't know how to do it. He let out a little noise of frustration and turned back to Padfoot, who was hunched over a goblet of potion, mumbling.

"Padfoot?" he called.

" _James?_ " Padfoot called, his voice climbing an octave. "James, where are you?"

"I'm not- Padfoot, I-"

"You sound younger... I suppose that's what happens when you die, right? You can be any age you want... I'm sorry."

"Er... It's fine," Harry said quickly. "It's fine, just drink."

There was a quiet slurping sound and then the red mass that was Padfoot quivered. "I can't. James, I can't-"

"It's all right," Harry said, scared now. _What am I supposed to do when he's over there and I'm over here?!_ "Just... just drink."

"I can't, Prongs." Short of tipping the damn thing down his throat - which Harry couldn't get over there to do anyway - Harry was out of options. Padfoot was hallucinating for Merlin's sake! He was in _pain_. What was Harry supposed to do? "Sorry," Padfoot murmured. "Oh, Lily, I'm so sorry. Reg... Reg, I tried, I should've made you come with me..."

"Padfoot - Sirius - I need you to listen to me," Harry said desperately.

"You've never exactly been easy to ignore, James," Padfoot said, sounding weak.

"I need you to drink."

"You drink it," Padfoot snapped. "It fucking hurts."

"I know, I'm sorry." Harry swallowed. "But please... for Da- Jam- er... me and Lily? For Reg? For Remus?" Padfoot whimpered. "And... er... Kreacher and Harry."

"Harry," he heard from the island. The mass of red moved closer to the basin again and then there was another scraping sound. Everything was silent again. Another few minutes filled only with gulps and moans passed.

If Harry had to guess, he would say Padfoot had had ten goblets now. _Surely it's nearly empty._.. Padfoot collapsed with a loud, rattling breath that echoed over the water and then everything was silent.

"No," Harry breathed. "No! Padfoot!" he shouted. There was no response. Padfoot's magic was very still, and dimmer than before. "Padfoot! Padfoot, wake up, wake up, please! _Please_." Still nothing. " _Finite Incantatem!_ " Harry said urgently, waving his wand in Padfoot's direction.

It might have been the wrong spell, or it might have had something to do with the distance, but nothing happened.

" _Finite Incantatem!_ Please!" Harry took a step forward, thinking he'd swim if he had to, when Padfoot stirred. "Padfoot!"

"Water," Padfoot croaked.

"The rucksack," Harry said. "It's in the rucksack, Padfoot, and there's hot chocolate and-"

"Water's gone... I can't-" There was silence - Harry thought he heard the thermos open - and then, "I'm still thirsty. Really, really thirsty. I need... water. There's water here. A whole lake of it..."

"No!" Harry screamed, his voice cutting through the darkness. "No, no water!"

"But..."

"NO! Don't move!" The red mass stopped. Harry needed a way to distract him until he came back to his senses. "There's a locket in the basin," Harry said, thinking quickly. "Open it - the locket. There's a note, isn't there? What does it say?"

"My throat... Thirsty..."

"I know. The note'll make it better. It's... er... magic."

There were a few indistinguishable noises then: "T-to the Dark Lord..." Padfoot croaked. "I know I will be dead... long before... you read... this... but I want you... to know that... it was-it was... I... who discovered your... secret... I have... stolen... the real... H-Horcrux-" That was it, Harry knew. That was what they had come for. "-and... intend to... destroy it... as soon as... I can... I face death... in the... hope... that when you meet... your match... you will be... mortal...once... more... R...A...B..." Harry knew he'd never forget those words, even if he lived to be a hundred or older, even; Padfoot said wizards had longer life-spans than muggles. "It's not better... water..."

"No, you can't!"

"But-"

"Put the note back in the locket. Padfoot, I need you to put it back." He knew what the note said now and Regulus deserved to have Voldemort read that letter. Harry almost smiled at the thought.

"Can I-" Padfoot was gasping and his words caught in his throat, which sounded dry.

"Refill the basin," Harry said. "Please?"

"Done," Padfoot said a moment later. "Water. I need... please..." Harry could hear his breathing now, and it sounded painful. There was a flash of red and Padfoot's magic surged and then almost faded, but for a small, bright red core. He'd transformed; Harry could hear him panting, hear his claws on the stone.

"Sit!" he called desperately as Padfoot trotted toward the water. "Stay where you are! No!" It was too late, though. Padfoot had stuck his nose in the water and was lapping up as much as he could. "Padfoot, no!" Harry shouted, but the Inferi were already moving. One grabbed the dog around the neck.

Padfoot snapped at it and chased it back into the water with a weak growl. More were flocking to the island, though - the closest ones to Harry were now thirty yards away. The entire lake's surface was rippling.

Unbidden, Harry's mind flashed back to something he'd read in _When The Dead Walk_. Inferi often attacked the greatest threat first. At the moment, that was Padfoot - the bearlike dog was snapping at another one - but that could be changed.

 _Don't do anything stupid_ , Padfoot had said earlier.

 _Yeah, well you didn't exactly listen when I told you not to drink_ , Harry thought, frowning.

He summoned his courage, grabbed a firework and bellowed, " _Incendio!_ " before tossing it into the air. It exploded a moment later in a shower of blue sparks above his head. He grabbed another firework and after lighting it, tossed it as far as he could toward the middle of the lake.

BANG! Green and red lights sizzled and popped and then hissed when they hit the water. Several of the Inferi were now drifting his way. _But not enough_ , he thought, grimly.

He took a deep breath and then stepped forward and stuck the tip of his trainer into the edge of the lake. A few more of the eerie shapes were headed for him now. Harry took another deep breath, and ran out into the lake, planning to go until he was knee deep.

He skidded on a submerged rock and floundered in the water before he managed to find his feet again and sprinted back to the shore before anything could catch him.

Almost every Inferius in the lake was headed for him now. Padfoot was still fighting as a dog and he was having no trouble at all. It was Harry who needed to be worried, now, and he was. Fear threatened to overwhelm him, but they'd studied for this. They'd practiced. _Fire,_ he thought. _They hate fire_. _And light._

" _N-nox_ ," he whispered, through chattering teeth. His wandlight went out, though he could still see everything - the Inferi, really, were all that mattered - perfectly clearly with his magic-vision. " _Lumos Maxima,"_ he said a moment later as the first few got close enough to be a threat. The white, water-logged hands that had been reaching for him recoiled and their owners shrieked as white light bloomed out of his wand tip.

Harry quickly lit another firework and tossed it out in front of him while the creatures were distracted. It exploded and probably would have done him considerable damage if it weren't for Padfoot's Fire-Freezing Charm. As it was, he was knocked off his feet.

He scrambled back up and had a quick glance at the island. Padfoot was back in human form, stuffing things into the rucksack and every few seconds he'd blast an Inferius off the island and back into the water. Harry lit another firework and tossed it toward the edge of the lake.

The firecracker burst in a shower of multicoloured sparks, making more of the creatures shriek. Still, more were coming - far, far too many - and Harry was beginning to think that thinking he could handle them was not only optimistic but downright impossible.

" _Ventus_!" he shouted and sent two whizzing away. He could see several massing in one spot so he used another Wind Charm to send a firework in their direction.

" _Incendio Pila!_ " he heard Padfoot shout. A moment later, a huge fireball exploded in front of Harry. The entire container of fireworks exploded and Harry was knocked over again.

This time he hit the wall, and with enough force that the wind was knocked out of him. His wand landed nearby. Harry struggled to get upright but couldn't. He did manage to wrap his fingers around his wand.

" _Incendio_ ," he gasped, pointing at the nearest Inferius. It burst into flames and Harry felt sick but the fire went out as soon as the creature dove back into the water. It went dark and then pale blue light burned his eyes.

He was forced to release his magic-vision and found himself staring up at the ghostly figure of an Inferius. It stank, like rotting fish, its hair was stringy, its teeth sharp - though most were missing - and its pale eyes were glazed over.

Harry crawled backwards, trying to get far enough away to be able to use his wand. " _Petrificus Totalus_ ," he yelled. It dropped with a thud but another moved forward to take its place, its robes hanging off in tatters, teeth bared in a feral smile.

It was a child, too, and couldn't have been older than nine when it died. _No older than I am..._ " _Pedis Offensio!_ " he said frantically and it tripped. He backed away but its hand latched onto his arm and his back had just hit the cave wall.

Another fireball exploded closer to the water's edge - from Padfoot, which meant Padfoot was still alive, thankfully - but it wasn't close enough to help Harry.

 _"Nox,_ " he said, and waited until the creature had tightened its grip almost unbearably and then he screamed, " _Lumos Maxima!_ " The Inferius screamed and Harry wrenched his arm free. His shoulder popped painfully and his arm began to tingle but he gritted his teeth, kicked it in the face and sent it soaring back to the lake with a Wind Charm.

"Harry! Where are you?!" Padfoot called hoarsely.

"H-here!" Harry called back, still shivering. He couldn't feel his left arm at all now, but it twinged every now and then with what he was sure was pain.

"Where's here!?" Harry saw another fireball go up and then he heard, " _Bombarda Maxima!_ " Several Inferi flew into the air and landed with splashes.

"Here!" Harry shouted desperately. Harry got a glimpse of his godfather, who was held by three Inferi. " _Incendio!_ " Harry shouted. One burst into flames, making the other let go, and Padfoot punched the third hard enough to _make_ it let go. Harry's eyes met his for a moment and then Padfoot started forward. A moment later he was obscured by a mass of white.

 _How many are there!_? Harry wondered, horrified. A freezing hand tightened around his neck and Harry had to drop his wand to fight it off. Lights flashed in front of his eyes and he couldn't breathe.

His good hand scrabbled uselessly against the thing's rotting flesh. Harry tried to shout for help, but couldn't. Suddenly, it was gone altogether. Padfoot had come; Padfoot - in dog form - had tackled it to the ground, teeth bared, ears back.

The pair went skidding across the stone floor, Padfoot snapping, but then, somehow, it got its hand around his throat too. Harry picked up his wand but he couldn't think of a spell and he didn't think he'd be able to use wandless magic again after that massive blast before. In desperation he dropped his wand again and grabbed its ankle, trying to pull it off.

His hand kept slipping on its slimy skin. Padfoot was human again and trying to prise its fingers off but he was slowly going red and he was struggling to breathe, struggling to say something, when- BANG!

All Harry saw was orange, and he wasn't cold anymore, he was burning, despite Padfoot's charm. It was uncomfortably hot and he could taste smoke, hear Inferi screaming, hear _Padfoot_ screaming and then his ears popped and he couldn't hear anything but Merlin did it hurt.

He landed roughly. He'd lost Padfoot, and the creature's ankle was gone from his grip as well. He felt pressure on his left arm, though he couldn't tell if it was Padfoot or an Inferius, hot or cold.

He grabbed his wand to try to fight it off but he was being squeezed, everything was being squeezed and he couldn't move, couldn't fight it off, and he was going to die...

And then it stopped.


	15. Chapter 15

"Padfoot," was the first thing Harry said. He opened his eyes and was dazzled by bright, fiery lights. He snapped his eyes shut again. He'd seen enough fire.

"Young Master, Master Harry." His ears were still ringing, so it sounded funny, but Harry recognised the voice.

"Kreacher?" Harry asked, aware of shcoucuffling footsteps around him. Harry opened his eyes to see Kreacher looking terrified, wringing his hands together. He looked perilously close to tears. "What?" Harry croaked, recognising the hallway of Grimmauld Place. It was just the two of them.

"Kreacher?" Harry's voice was bordering on hysteric. "Kreacher, where's Padfoot?! Kreacher!? Kreacher where is he!?" The old elf came to pat Harry's back awkwardly and Harry appreciated the gesture but his back was far too sore to be petted.

"Kreacher is only following orders-" the elf began, his ears quivering.

"Where's Padfoot?!" Harry demanded, trying to look around the elf.

"Master is saying to bring Young Master to safety," Kreacher said, flinching.

"You mean- You didn't- He's not- He's not still there?!" The elf nodded slowly. "Why didn't you bring him with us?!" Harry shouted, his temper flaring. "He was right there!" Only he hadn't been; he and the Inferius had been blown back by the blast as surely as Harry had.

"Master is calling Kreacher and telling him to take Master Harry home, to be safe," Kreacher said, sniffing.

"No!" Harry shouted, his voice cracking. "No, he can't have stayed! That's why I distracted them in the first place! So that he'd get out! So we'd both get out!"

"Kreacher is just doing what he's being told," the elf wailed.

"I don't care! You should never have left him!" Harry yelled. "I didn't nearly die just to leave him there!" The lamps on the walls shattered. "It's not fair! He was supposed to make it out!" He turned to the elf. "Take me back!"

Kreacher screwed his face up. He was obviously fighting conflicting orders. Finally, his face relaxed. "Master is saying to be keeping Master Harry safe-"

"I don't give a damn! Take me back. Please!" Harry added desperately.

"Kreacher musn't be doing that, oh no," the elf said with more conviction now. Harry eyed his wand, which had slipped out of his fingers when they arrived. _Fine. Fine, I'll go myself, then_ , he thought, determined, but then Kreacher snatched it up. "Kreacher promised," Kreacher said, sniffing again.

"We can't just leave him!" Harry shouted, reaching for it with his good arm. His back twinged. "Give me my wand! How am I supposed to fight them when you've got my wand!?" Kreacher vanished with a CRACK! and when he returned a few seconds later, Harry's wand was not with him. "Kreacher!" Harry bellowed. "Take me back!"

"Kreacher cannot be doing that, oh no," the elf said sadly. "Kreacher is to be keeping Master Harry safe."

Harry still couldn't move his left arm and he didn't have his wand but his magic was flaring out; the remaining lamps shattered, as did the majority of the crystals on the chandelier. They rained down on Harry and Kreacher and the elf hurriedly fabricated a shield to protect them. Harry wouldn't have cared if the crystal had hit them.

"Take me back," he ordered.

"No," Kreacher said, folding his arms.

"We can still save him!" Harry said urgently. He couldn't even stand up but he'd fight somehow. Kreacher's eyes filled with tears and he shook his ugly head. "It's not too late!" Kreacher looked uncomfortable. "It's not! Take me back! I can help him!"

The front door burst open and Mrs Black's horrid portrait dropped off the wall and she started screaming. More crystal fell and this time it did hit them. Kreacher stared, wide-eyed and pressed a hand to a cut on his cheek. Slowly, he raised his other hand and the door closed.

Harry was fuming, but the elf would not be persuaded. "No," he'd say each time. Harry knew he'd have to punish himself for it but he didn't really care. Kreacher had left Padfoot to die. He deserved it. Mrs Black screamed on.

"I'll walk then," he said and tried to stand, but he didn't seem able to. Kreacher watched him try and fail to stand for a bit; each time he fell, gasping, and once he landed on his left arm and couldn't stop himself from screaming. Kreacher sat with him and patted his right hand - since everything else hurt - until Harry was able to move again.

"Can you help me get into the study?" he said stiffly, since he couldn't do it himself. Kreacher looked delighted to have an order he could follow and let Harry grab his arm.

They reappeared in the middle of the room and even the smooth landing had Harry hissing in pain. Kreacher flapped about uselessly, not sure what was wrong. Harry wasn't sure himself, and only knew he was sore. The furniture had all been overturned and quite a few books had come off the shelves. Harry would fix that later.

"The window seat, please," Harry said. "I want to know when Padfoot gets home."

Kreacher looked at him worriedly but levitated him over to the window seat and set him down as gently as possible. Harry peered out at the street, half expecting to see Padfoot striding up at any moment. He didn't let the other half of him tell him about its expectations. Kreacher hovered nearby, peeking out occasionally too, but mostly he was sneaking worried looks at Harry. Finally, he announced he was going to get Harry something to eat.

"I forbid you to punish yourself," Harry called after him. He was still angry Kreacher hadn't taken him back but his anger wasn't at Kreacher anymore, just at the circumstances, and at Padfoot for getting himself left behind.

Padfoot still wasn't home after three hours of waiting. Had Harry felt up to it, he would have been pacing. He was feeling terrible, though, inside and out. Every part of him ached and he didn't think he'd ever felt so tired in his entire life. He felt guilty and nauseated and physically hurt as well; he was bruised everywhere and his throat was sore from being strangled.

His left arm still wasn't working. It wasn't broken, Harry didn't think, but he didn't know what was wrong with it. _It's all right. Padfoot will fix it when he gets home_. He'd told Kreacher the same thing too, whenever the elf expressed any concern over Harry's wellbeing.

Harry had also written out Regulus' note from memory; he could still hear Padfoot's voice asking for water, and reading the letter and he'd decided writing it down might make it go away. It hadn't, but it had been worth a try. He'd had Kreacher search the library for anything on Horcruxes, but since neither of them knew what they were, they weren't sure where to look and in the end, Harry had decided that could wait until Padfoot got home as well.

Harry fell asleep just after midnight, but not for long - he'd dreamed he was back in the cave and set one of the armchairs on fire. Kreacher had brought him more food which Harry turned down and they'd both sat by the window until morning. Hedwig had joined them at some point and perched on Harry's knee. She'd shed all of her baby feathers now and while Harry appreciated her company, it wasn't the company he wanted just then. He wanted his godfather.

"Kreacher, can you heal this?" Harry asked, wearily, pointing to a particularly painful bruise.

Kreacher shook his head. "Kreacher has been thinking... Kreacher talked to Mistress... Kreacher thinks Master Harry might be needing to see Healers."

"No," Harry said stubbornly. "It's fine. Padfoot can heal me when he gets home." Kreacher patted his knee - the one Hedwig wasn't resting on - and wandered out.

By mid-morning, Harry was starting to think he might need healing. He could walk again - just - but his back was stiff and bruised and his arm was starting to ache in a way Harry was fairly sure wasn't healthy. He called Kreacher back and asked him to retrieve the letter to Remus from Padfoot's bedroom. As he'd hoped, there was an address on it. _Outskirts of Peaslake_ , Padfoot had written. _Small cottage at the edge of Hurtwood Forest._

Harry decided to leave the letter behind - Padfoot _would_ be back, so there was no need to transfer Harry into anyone else's care. He didn't bother taking anything with him - chances were it would be confiscated before it had a chance to be useful - and so just after lunch, Harry hobbled out of the study and into the hallway, where Kreacher was repairing the chandelier.

"Kreacher," Harry said quietly. Kreacher wandered over. "Can you take me to Remus Lupin's cottage at the edge of Hurtwood Forest? It's on the outskirts of Peaslake. Drop me and come home." Kreacher nodded. "Wait for Padfoot - tell him where I've gone as soon as he gets home-" Harry's voice wavered. "-all right?"

Kreacher offered Harry his arm.

-()()()()()-

Harry woke up disoriented. He was somewhere white, but his last memory was of Remus Lupin's doorstep.

"What?" he tried to say, though it came out garbled. His throat felt scratchy and someone pushed a cup of water into his hand. He took a sip, but all he could hear was Padfoot begging for water and the cup slipped out of his hand. He asked after his godfather but no one answered him and he fell asleep not long after.

-()()()()()-

The next time he opened his eyes it was to see who was fighting. He'd yet to work out where he was but there was a door and through it he could see two men arguing. One was a tall man with sandy hair - Harry thought he resembled what he remembered of Remus but couldn't be sure - while the other was equally tall with platinum blond hair and a haughty expression.

"Excuse me," Harry said quietly. The sandy haired man - it was indeed Remus - spun quickly. The other man grabbed his arm but Remus pushed him off.

"If you'll excuse me, Lucius," Remus said coolly.

"He's only allowed one visitor at a time," the blond - Lucius - said.

"Yes," Remus agreed, "and that would be me."

"You work for me," Lucius snapped.

"To find Harry. And I've done that. He's right there." Remus closed the door in Lucius' face. "How do you feel?" Remus asked kindly, sitting down beside Harry's bed.

"Tired," Harry said, yawning; now that things were quiet again, he thought he could go back to sleep. "It's nice to finally meet you, though, sir."

"Remus is fine, thank you, Harry."

"Nice to meet you anyway." He held out a limp hand, which Remus shook gently. "What happened?" Harry asked, staring at the older wizard's hand. His question came out garbled but Remus understood.

He flushed and shook his sleeve forward a few inches to cover the worst of the scarring. Now that Harry looked, there were scars on his face, too. _Like mine,_ Harry thought sleepily, though there wasn't any particular shape to Remus', he had far more, and his were better healed; Harry's scar still looked fresh, even after almost eight years. "An... incident when I was younger," he said finally. "Nothing you need to be worried about."

"Okay," Harry murmured and yawned again. "Why'm I so tired?"

"Healing potions tend to take a lot out of you," Remus said, with a slight smile. "And the younger you are, the worse it is, I'm afraid."

"I'm not young," Harry murmured sleepily. "I'm nine."

"I know," Remus said. "But..."

Harry didn't hear the rest, but that was when the dreams of the cave started.

-()()()()()-

Harry woke on a number of other occasions - to drink potions for the Healers - he'd decided he was in St Mungo's - to eat, to go to the bathroom, or to talk to Remus. To begin with, the conversations were short and fairly awkward – Remus had wanted to know why, in his sleep, he shouted, "Fire, they hate fire," (a statement that was usually followed by Harry's accidental magic flaring and something catching fire) and "Take me back! I can help him!"; Harry had pretended not to remember the dreams, but he didn't think Remus bought the lie.

Despite that, they had quickly warmed to each other; Harry's only other company was a fussy Healer and the silent Aurors who guarded his door.

Lucius - the man Remus had fought with - had visited once but Harry hadn't liked him - his cold demeanour and colder eyes were rather off-putting - and had pretended to fall asleep. Lucius had stopped talking and left not long after.

Harry had had other visitors while he slept. Two he'd been disappointed to miss; Dumbledore, for obvious reasons, and also one of Remus' friends, who'd come by with a change of robes. Harry would have liked to meet one of the friends of his parents' old friend.

Two, he'd been relieved to have slept through; one from a hoarde of reporters from various publications (Remus told him they'd been terribly upset to find him asleep) and one from a Ministry woman from the Department of Management and Control of Magical Children.

He and Remus were joking about Healers, the terrible hospital food and bad tasting potions in no time, and then they moved onto more substantial conversations like what had happened after Harry arrived at his house, what sorts of things Harry could look forward to at Hogwarts in two year's time, what sorts of things Harry liked to do and what things Remus liked to do.

They never spoke about Padfoot, or Harry's life after leaving the Dursleys and Harry got the idea that Remus had been _told_ not to talk about it, rather than made the decision on his own; he'd just about swallowed his tongue when Harry asked him if Padfoot had been in the papers.

"No," Remus replied quickly. His brown eyes darted to the door and then back to Harry. "No one's heard anything." Harry wasn't sure if that was good or bad, given the last time he'd seen his godfather, he was trying to fight off several Inferi. _He's safe. He has to be_... _But then why hasn't he tried to visit, or sent Kreacher with a message?_ an annoying little voice in the back of his head asked. _What if he's not all right?_ "How are you feeling?"

"Fine," Harry said. "Why am I still here?"

"Because no one knows what to do with you," Remus said, smiling slightly. "Short of locking you up in a vault at Gringotts, we don't know how to keep you safe."

"Safe? Am I in danger?"

Remus shifted. "You clearly don't see Sirius as a threat, Harry, but the rest of us-"

"He's not dangerous," Harry said hotly.

"You're the only one that can vouch for that," Remus said gently.

"That's because you didn't listen the first time," Harry muttered. "You tried to capture him."

Remus' expression flickered. "I'd be willing to talk to him now," he said. Harry couldn't tell if he was lying or not. "If you could set up a meeting place for the two-"

"Three," Harry corrected quietly. "Three of us."

"Harry, that wouldn't be safe," he said.

"Yeah, because I might get in the way while you try to curse him!" Harry said.

"Harry-" Remus began. Harry glared at him and Remus sighed loudly and closed his mouth. Harry rolled over into his pillows. "Harry," Remus said again a moment later. Harry ignored him and made a quiet snoring sound. "I know you're awake," Remus told him, but Harry ignored him.

"Remus." The speaker was behind Harry and though he didn't turn around to see who it was, he was curious about the owner of the deep, calm voice.

"Sir," Remus said.

"He's asleep?"

"He was pretending to begin with, but I think he might be now. Then again, maybe not; he usually chatters. A lot like James, really."

The other man let out a quiet sigh. "I'd hoped to speak with him before tomorrow."

 _Tomorrow?_ Harry wondered, his breath catching. He remembered to let out a snore, just in case Remus was paying attention.

"Should I wake him up?" Remus asked.

"No, let him sleep for now. If you could fetch me once he's awake, though-"

"Of course."

Harry made another snoring sound. "Has he said anything?"

"Not really. Something about Sirius being a wonderful godfather. He saw right through my offer to meet up with him. It was strange, though, sir, because he said something about getting in the way if I tried to curse him."

"Words and actions are two very different things, Remus."

"I know, sir, but when I found them in London it was similar; Harry was trying to _protect_ Sirius, not get away from him." The other man made a thoughtful sound. "It's just... strange." They were both quiet - Harry snored - and then Remus said, "Sir, do you think it's possible we might be missing something? Children are perceptive. If-"

"There was a time where you too would have stepped between Sirius and a curse," the man said gently. "And a child is far easier to lie to than a friend of ten years."

"Right," Remus said, his voice oddly thick. "I'm sorry, it was a stupid question."

"I've yet to hear a stupid question, and I do not think there is anything wrong with wishful thinking, dear boy, but one must remind himself not to drift out of reality." There was a sigh, but Harry couldn't tell who it had come from. "Our ability to use magic has enabled us to see possibilities where muggles perhaps could not," the man said, "but it has also blinded us to impossibilities, which muggles, I'm afraid, are all too capable of seeing."

The other man left shortly after - Harry heard him exchange a few polite words with the Aurors outside - but Remus stayed behind. His breathing was very slow and very deep, and every now and then he would make a soft shuddering sound. It took Harry a moment to realise he was crying. Harry almost moved to speak to him but bit down on his tongue and snored again.

He had a lot to think about.

-()()()()()-

Harry gasped and opened his eyes. The cave faded into his hospital room. Remus was snoring quietly in the chair beside the bed, and the empty chair beside his was smoking. Harry muttered a curse he'd heard Padfoot use once and tossed his glass of water on it. It hissed. Harry sighed and collapsed back into his pillows.

Remus' watch said it was eleven o'clock but in Harry's sterile hospital room, it was impossible to tell whether it was morning or night because there were no windows.

Harry had come to a conclusion about two things. Firstly, he needed to get home and back to Padfoot, who might or might not be there and who might or might not be alive. Secondly, he would do what he could for Remus. From the conversation he'd overheard the night before, he was confident Remus would be willing to listen to the truth and perhaps even believe it.

Padfoot had given him specific instructions never to talk to anyone about it until they had Peter as proof, or - Merlin forbid - Padfoot was caught and needed to testify. If the truth was spread around, people would have time to find reasons why it couldn't have happened, and Padfoot would be sent back to Azkaban. Harry had decided, though, that Remus deserved to know and thought - whether he believed it or not - that he would keep the story quiet.

He eyed Remus, wondering if it would be rude to wake him up. He cleared his throat. Remus snorted quietly and mumbled something. Harry's eyes narrowed and he cleared his throat again, louder this time. Remus twitched and his eyes opened slowly.

"I must have dozed off," he said, smoothing his creased occurred to Harry that Remus had been wearing those same robes for three days now and the ones he'd been wearing before that had been the ones he'd been in when Harry arrived on his doorstep. "Have you been home since you brought me here?"

"No, but Matt's planning to come by at some point today with a clean set of robes," Remus said with a smile. His smile faded and was replaced by a more intense look. "I don't think I've told you, but did you know you have your mother's eyes?"

"I've been told," Harry said, with a smile as he noted Remus' suspiciously bright eyes. "And I look like Dad, right?"

"Right," Remus said, smiling again. He got up and stretched. "I'm just going to go let Dumbledore know you're awake and then I'll be back; he's been waiting to speak with you all morning. Would you like anything?" He eyed the smouldering chair. "More water?"

"Yes, please," Harry said. "And food?"

Remus chuckled and left. Harry's thoughts drifted to Padfoot again and whether he was home. Surely he was... if not... _No, he has. He's there. He's the one waiting on me, now, surely. Either way I won't know until I get home..._ If Remus believed him, he could probably borrow a few sickles for the Knight Bus and be at Grimmauld in a few hours.

Remus returned not long after with a cup of water and a packet of crisps, both of which he offered to Harry. "Here." Harry stared at the water, hearing Padfoot's begging, but he really was thirsty and he downed it all in a mouthful. The crisps didn't last long either. "Do you enjoy living with your godfather?" Remus asked carefully.

Harry's eyebrows rose; he hadn't been expecting Remus to talk about this, but it would certainly lead into the conversation he needed to have.

"Well, yeah."

Remus seemed to be expecting a longer answer. When Harry didn't offer anything else he asked, "Does he tell you much about your parents?"

Harry nodded. "Loads. I feel... almost like I know them, now, I guess." Harry thought Remus had been surprised to hear that too, though he hid it well.

"Is that good or bad?"

He shrugged. "Both. It was weird to not know anything about them but then, the more I learn, the more I miss what I could have had, I suppose."

Remus' smile was sad. A frown flickered over his worn features before he hid it behind a calm expression. "Not know anything about them?"

"The Dursleys weren't about to talk about it," Harry said, rolling his eyes. "I didn't even know what magic was until I met Padfoot. The Dursleys told me Dad was a drunkard and that Mum was a freak; not right in the head was Uncle Vernon's way of putting it."

"James- a- a drunkard?!" Remus exclaimed. He didn't seem to know whether to laugh, cry or hit something.

"Padfoot told me he was an Auror and Mum was a Healer."

"At least he was honest about something," Remus muttered.

"He's been honest about a lot of things," Harry said, folding his arms.

"You do know that Sirius – Padfoot to you-"

"And you," Harry couldn't help adding.

"That was a long time ago," Remus said quietly. "Did he tell you he broke out of prison?"

"It was one of the first things he told me when I met him."

"You do know that breaking out of prison is illegal, don't you, Harry?" Remus said strictly. Padfoot always had said he'd been one to follow rules.

"Well, yeah, but not in this case."

"What do you mean?"

"He shouldn't have gone to prison in the first place," Harry said, "so, really, he's not breaking any laws by leaving a place he's not supposed to be."

"Why wasn't he supposed to be there?"

Harry's heart began to race. _This is it..._ "Because he didn't do it."

"I'm afraid I can't agree with you there," Remus said, anger seeping into his voice.

"He was framed!"

"By who?" Remus asked, sounding curious though his tone was still hard.

"Peter," Harry spat.

"Peter?" Remus said, sounding too surprised to be angry. "Peter's dead. Sirius... he... killed him." Harry opened his mouth to protest but Remus pressed on. "There was a charm set up, called the Fidelius Charm. What it does is-"

"I know what a Fidelius Charm is," Harry said, fighting to hide a smile.

Remus frowned. "Then Sirius must have told you he was the Secret Keeper. He was the only person who knew and could reveal James and Lily's location."

"He wasn't. They swapped."

"Who swapped?"

"Padfoot. He thought Peter would be the perfect Secret Keeper because no one would suspect him. He planned for Voldemort to come after him, but even if he was caught, Mum and Dad would be safe."

"Sirius told you that Peter was the Secret Keeper?" Remus repeated. Harry nodded. "Did he tell you he was at my house the night Lily and James were...?"

"Who, Peter?"

"No, Sirius."

"Yeah, he said you were sick." Remus' eyebrows disappeared into his hairline. Harry ignored this. "He left because he had a bad feeling about Peter and wanted to see that everything was okay... and it wasn't."

"Peter's dead, though," Remus said.

"He isn't."

"Peter wasn't a spy. He wasn't brave enough."

"Yeah, so no one would suspect him."

"Sirius was the Secret Keeper," Remus said. "Everyone knew... it was always going to be him."

"Which is why he swapped," Harry said. "I mean, it's a bit pointless if everyone knows, isn't it?"

"Peter's dead," Remus repeated, looking quite flustered. "Sirius is guilty."

"Remus?" There was an old, bearded man standing in the doorway of Harry's room. "Are you feeling well?"

"I think I need some fresh air," Remus said, getting up. Harry couldn't blame him. Padfoot always said his life had ended that Halloween night and Harry was fairly sure Remus' had too. Talking about it couldn't be any easier for Remus than it was for Padfoot.

"Moony," Harry called as he left. Remus stiffened and turned. Harry looked suspiciously at the old man, not yet sure whether he could trust him or not. "He's not dead. You just think he is because it wasn't... er... Peter... who got away."

"Harry, I'm afraid I don't know what you mean," Remus said, looking tired.

"It was Wormtail," Harry said significantly.

"Wormtail?" Remus repeated. "As in _Wormtail_?"

Harry glanced at the old man again. "He... erm... _ratted_ them out," he said, trying to be cryptic, yet make sure Remus understood.

It seemed Remus did. "You're sure?" he asked, having gone exceptionally pale. He looked close to fainting, but there was also something in his brown eyes that hadn't been there all week. It looked suspiciously like hope.

"Positive," Harry said. The old man was looking between them, confused.

"So... man's best friend...?"

"Was just that," Harry said nodding. "The best friend."

"And all that time spent in... the kennel...?"

"He shouldn't have been there." Remus nodded and fled the room.

"Well, you two certainly had a lot to say to each other," the bearded man said, taking Remus' empty seat.

"Yes, sir," Harry replied, since he didn't know the man's name.

"He's been keeping you company, I believe?" Suddenly, Harry recognised the voice. This was the man who had come to talk to Remus while Harry had pretended to sleep.

"Yes, sir."

"Why is it you went to his home last week, Harry?" the man asked, leaning forward. His blue eyes seemed to see through Harry.

"He was a friend of my parents'," Harry said uneasily. _And Padfoot's._

"He was indeed. He, your father, another boy called Peter-" Harry managed to suppress a growl just in time. "-and Sirius Black were thick as thieves, to coin a muggle phrase."

"You knew them too?" Harry asked, interested. _It seems everyone in the Wizarding world knew my parents._

"I did. I was the Headmaster at the school they attended."

"You're Dumbledore," Harry said.

"I am indeed," Dumbledore said, his blue eyes twinkling. It seemed hard to believe that this cheerful, grandfatherly man could be the same one Padfoot had always talked about with reverence. That he was the only man Voldemort had ever feared. The old man sighed. "I must admit, I was hoping to meet you under better circumstances."

"I wasn't planning to meet you for a few years, yet," Harry said, a little apologetically.

"And yet here we are. Odd how these things happen, isn't it?" Dumbledore said pleasantly. Two women and a man appeared in the doorway. The man was short and round, with rumpled grey hair and a lime green bowler hat. He was wearing the oddest assortment of clothing Harry had ever seen; a pinstriped suit, scarlet tie, a long blue travelling cloak and bright purple boots.

One of the witches accompanying him looked equally strange; she was a short, squat witch who looked rather like a toad, and must have been in her early thirties but she was dressed like a six-year-old girl, with a pink bow in her curly hair and a matching dress and cardigan ensemble. The other witch had a square jaw, short blond hair that was turning grey, and was wearing a plain black robe with buttons that reached her throat.

"Oh my," said the square-jawed witch when she spied Harry. The look of shock and sadness she wore softened her tough expression immediately. "He looks so much like James." Harry was beginning to think his father had known everyone there was to know. The witch shook herself. "Sorry. My name is Amelia Bones, Mr Potter. I'm from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement."

"Hi," Harry said, wiping his sweaty palms on his blanket.

"Dolores Umbridge," the other witch said in a girlish voice. "Department of Management and Control of Magical Children, and Junior Undersecretary to the Minister for Magic." Harry nodded, fairly sure it was her visit he'd pretended to sleep through.

"Cornelius Fudge, Mr Potter," said the wizard, puffing out his chest. "Minister for Magic."

"Nice to meet you, sir," Harry said, feeling very nervous now.

"We have a few questions, for you, Harry," Amelia Bones said, conjuring herself a chair beside Dumbledore's. Dolores Umbridge conjured one for herself, and one for the Minister. "Do you need to use the bathroom or have something to eat or drink before we begin?"

"No, I'm all right, thanks."

Amelia Bones nodded and produced a blank piece of parchment, a quill and a little pot of ink from somewhere in her robes. "Very well. Now, some of this may be difficult for you to talk about, but please try to answer to the best of your ability."

"Answer what?" Harry asked warily.

"Some questions we have," Bones said patiently. "Please try to answer to the best of your ability."

Harry swallowed. "All right."


	16. Chapter 16

Icy hands tightened around his throat. Sirius had no choice but to transform back so that he'd be able to use his own hands and try to get the wretched thing off. He couldn't. It was too strong and that foul brew of Voldemort's was hardly a Pepper-Up Potion. His vision was already flickering. It was only a matter of time before he was unconscious.

His eyes flicked to his godson; Harry had latched onto the Inferius' ankle and was trying to pull it off. It wasn't working terribly well, but it was a nice sentiment. _Have to...get him out,_ he thought, glancing at Harry again as he tried to pry the Inferius off.

"Kreacher," he managed to gasp. There was a pause and then the archway flared silver. Kreacher stumbled through, clutching his arm, and his bulbous eyes locked with Sirius'. "Help," Sirius wheezed. Kreacher lifted his hands and the world caught fire. The Inferius holding Sirius screeched and loosened its hold. "Get Harry, Kreacher! Get Harry home! Get him-" It was then that Kreacher's fire, which had been burning steadily, exploded.

Sirius was immediately thankful that he'd put Fire-Freezing Charms on Harry and himself; if he hadn't, they'd both certainly be dead by now. Sirius saw Harry flung away and then he too was soaring. He landed in the lake and lay stunned for a moment but he didn't stick around; the Inferi were stumbling blindly, shrieking in pain as they tried to get back to the water and he knew from Auror training to take every advantage he was given, even if moving was the last thing he felt like. He saw Harry and Kreacher vanish but everything else was so loud he hardly heard it.

He snatched his wand off of the ground ran for the archway. He stumbled a few times and was sorely tempted to just stay there and let death claim him. Then, he'd shook his head and forced himself up again. He wiped his cheek on the stone - he had a nasty cut there - and bolted through the second it cleared.

He tried to Disapparate, couldn't, and so he walked reluctantly into the pool, took a deep breath and dove under. The water was freezing and Harry's rucksack, light as it was with only chocolate and empty containers, was doing its best to weigh him down. He was cold, sore, out of breath and had swallowed a hell of a lot of sea water when he clambered out onto a rocky outcrop.

He couldn't move, couldn't stand. He was violently sick and that - if it was possible - made him feel even worse. The last thing he felt like doing was Apparating, but he knew Harry would be worrying and would probably do something stupid, like go back to the cave if Sirius didn't get home. Sirius pushed himself up onto his hands and knees and did an awkward little twist, unable to even stand before he Disapparated.

He ended up in a hallway that vaguely resembled his own and sighed, relieved, tucking his wand back into his pocket. He heard footsteps running toward him and managed a smile; Harry was safe. Then, he passed out.

-()()()()()-

"Your name is Harry James Potter, is that correct?"

"Yes," Harry said, though he did wonder what would have happened if he said no.

"You're nine years old?"

"As of three weeks ago."

"You grew up with your muggle relatives in Little Whinging?"

"Yes," Harry said again.

"And you were kidnapped earlier this year by Sirius Black?"

"No," Harry said.

"Liar," Umbridge said, her eyes bulging. "You have been living with Black!"

"I never said I hadn't," Harry answered coolly. "I just said I wasn't kidnapped."

"How would you explain what happened to you, Mr Potter?" Bones asked after silencing her colleague with a glare.

"He offered me a different home and I agreed," Harry said, all too aware of Dumbledore's piercing eyes resting on his face.

"Why did you agree?" Bones pressed, her quill scribbling furiously.

"Because he's my godfather and I wanted to."

"He didn't threaten you or your family in any way?"

"You mean the Dursleys? They were really the ones threatening him."

"And how do you explain your condition, Mr Potter?"

"What condition?"

"When Mr Lupin brought you here a week ago, you were in rather poor health," Bones said, picking at her robes. "Are you aware you had strangle marks on your neck, and extensive bruising on your back?"

Harry almost laughed. Almost. "Yeah, I am," he said. "Why?"

"Did your godfather give you those?"

"Of course not!" Harry growled.

"How about the hand prints on your arms?"

"No."

"So you don't know how you got them?" Umbridge asked disbelievingly.

"Er... No, I do."

"Do share," Bones said.

"No, thanks."

"If you're being abused," Umbridge began, "then-"

"I'm not," Harry said, cutting her off. "What's the next question?" There was a pause and Harry wondered if they'd let him off without an explanation.

"Can you explain the dreams you have?" Harry stifled a groan; that was an even worse question. "Your Healer tells us you're a fitful sleeper and that you... say things." Harry's stomach had taken up residence in his feet. What had he said? He swallowed his fear, however, and merely shrugged.

"Do I?" he asked.

"Yes," Umbridge said. "And set things on fire."

"That's odd," Harry said flatly. No one pressed the issue. He wiped his sweaty palms on the bedsheets.

"Where have you been living?" the Minster asked, excited. There was a collective intake of breath from all of the adults as they waited for his answer.

"I can't tell you."

Fudge swelled but was silenced by one of Umbridge's hands on his arm. "You can trust us," she said, with a smile that Harry saw as predatory. "We want to help you, Mr Potter, but we can't do that unless you trust us."

Harry met her eyes, unafraid and was pleased to see her recoil slightly. "Come now, Harry," Fudge said with a false laugh. "We're on your side, the good side. All we want is for you to be safe and sound and to have Black back where he belongs."

"Where's that?" Harry asked.

"Azkaban, of course," Fudge said, looking a little flustered.

"Then I'm afraid our definitions of where P-Sirius belongs differ, Minster."

"He's a criminal!" Umbridge snapped. "A danger to the wizarding world and to you! Where is he hiding?!"

 _Oh, yes, awfully dangerous. The man only tackled an Inferius for me._ "I can't tell you," Harry said, unable to decide if he was having fun, or if he was terrified.

"Are you aware that by not telling us, you're breaching Wizarding Law?" Bones said sternly.

"Yes," Harry replied, crossing his arms defiantly.

Everyone was quiet and then Dumbledore spoke, changing tact. "Are you aware that your godfather has done terrible things, Harry?"

"I know you think he has." Harry knew he was pushing it but he wasn't about to tell them everything and he certainly wasn't going to lie down and let them bully him into telling them.

Dumbledore opened his mouth and then closed it. "Madam Bones, Madam Umbridge, Headmaster," Fudge said, standing. "I would like to speak with you outside."

Harry watched as the four of them left the room, and as Fudge dismissed the Aurors on guard. _I don't like this at all_ , he thought, as the door clicked shut. He stayed in his bed, trying not to worry until he heard shouting from outside. Quickly, he peeled back his covers and crept to the door, pressing his ear against the crack at the bottom.

Fudge was talking. "But that's just it, Dumbledore! He's a child! He won't be able to defend against it!"

"He's a child!" Dumbledore thundered. "Cornelius, as Minister, you have a moral duty to-"

"Hem hem."

"Dolores?" Dumbledore asked politely.

"It's not illegal," Umbridge's voice said primly. Harry had to strain his ears to hear her.

"No, it's not, but it's frowned upon, Minster," Bones said, sounding upset.

"No one needs to know," Fudge said earnestly. "He won't be hurt, he won't know what's happening and we'll have Black. Surely that's worth it, Dumbledore?"

"The boy will think he's betrayed his godfather," Dumbledore said quietly.

"Let him," Umbridge said. "It's for the best."

"He seems to genuinely care for Black," Bones said softly. "He'd be crushed!"

"It's for the best," Fudge insisted. "The boy is clearly misinformed about Black's past, or he would have been itching to tell us everything."

"There are no long term effects," Umbridge said.

"No physical ones, perhaps," Dumbledore said. "But mentally? The mind of a child is a fragile thing. There are reasons there are laws against teaching children Occlumency and administering anything more than a brush of Legillimency-"

"It's Veritaserum, not Legillimency!" Harry didn't know what either of those things were but neither sounded as if they'd be good for him. "And we'll feed it to him, not simply go charging into his head!"

"It takes away Harry's free will!" Bones said.

"His free will is uncooperative! What choice do we have?! We can't afford to have Black on the loose, Dumbledore. He's a danger. This is the closest we've come to a lead on Black since the Lupin fiasco in May! You can't just expect me to leave it! I'd be sacked!"

"You could be sacked for using Veritaserum on a minor," Dumbledore said quietly.

"It's a chance I'll have to take," Fudge said. There was silence and then, "Come now, Dumbledore. I don't _like_ the idea-" _Could have fooled me_ , Harry thought darkly. "-but I don't have a choice!"

"We always have choices, Cornelius." But Fudge had won. Harry was sure of it.

Harry scrambled back into bed as the voices in the corridor died down. His eyes darted all over the room, but it was futile. There was no way to escape; there were no windows, no holes or vents in the ceiling or walls and the only door other than the one that Harry had been listening at was the one into his bathroom. Short of flushing himself down the toilet, he didn't have anywhere to go.

Panic bubbled away inside him as he waited. He had a few stressful minutes to ponder what he was going to do before Dumbledore, Bones, Fudge and Umbridge returned. The last was holding a tea tray.

"Ah, good," Fudge said. "You're still here."

"Where else would I be?" Harry asked, glaring mistrustfully at him. At least Dumbledore and Bones had _tried_ to defend him.

Fudge looked stumped and Harry swore Dumbledore's beard twitched. No one spoke, but Umbridge busied herself fussing with the tea – no doubt adding the Veritaserum, whatever _that_ was- and Bones picked lint off her robes. Harry watched Umbridge, trying to stay calm, but inside, he was screaming.

His eyes kept flicking to the door but he doubted he could get there before one of the four stopped him. And it probably wouldn't go down terribly well. A small, irrational part of his mind kept praying that Padfoot would come and save him, but that wasn't likely. Padfoot might not even be hom- _He's there. He has to be._ _And I have to be there too._

"Tea's ready," Umbridge said perkily. _I'll bet it is_ , Harry thought, glaring at her. One of the teacups shattered. She screamed, and the other three jumped, startled. _That was me_ , Harry realised. He tried to make another one break but couldn't. Umbridge mopped herself up and plastered her smile back on. "I do hope you're thirsty, Mr Potter."

"Not really," Harry said, trying to be nonchalant. Whatever was in there would make him betray Padfoot. He wasn't even going to smell it.

There was a knock on the door outside. "Professor Dumbledore? Harry?" It was Remus. He was wearing different robes than before. "Is everything all right in there?" _No!_ Harry shouted mentally. _It bloody well isn't!_ The door opened and Remus walked in, looking worried. If Harry wasn't used to living with Padfoot, he probably would have missed the near silent sniffing noises Remus was making. _He's a wolf Animagus_ , Harry remembered. _So he can smell how I'm feeling._

"Sorry," he said, spotting Harry's 'guests'. "I didn't mean to interrupt..." He gave Harry a questioning look and Harry, for only a second, let his fear show on his face, and let his eyes flick toward the tea tray. Remus frowned and looked back to Dumbledore. "I just...er..."

Dumbledore seemed to understand that he had smelled something too, though how, Harry didn't know. Padfoot had said no one knew about their Animagus forms.

"It's quite all right, Remus," he said. "We were just about to have tea, if you'd care to join us. You know Amelia and Cornelius, I believe." Remus nodded. "This is Madam Dolores Umbridge from the Department of Management and Control of Magical Children. Dolores, this is Remus Lupin."

Umbridge stiffened and looked at Dumbledore as if he was mad. And then she looked at Remus, seeming revolted and afraid all at once.

"A pleasure," Remus said curtly.

"Indeed. Tea, Mr Potter?" Umbridge said, holding a cup out toward him.

"No, thank you," Harry said, noticing Remus was staring at the teacup; he must have smelled it as it went past him. He looked up at Harry, a little concerned.

"Perhaps something else, then? You must be thirsty."

"No, I-"

"Come now, Mr Potter. Pick something."

Harry knew it was only a matter of time before they forced him to drink it. "Well... the tea's already made, I suppose."

"It is indeed," Umbridge said brightly, passing him the cup. He managed to take it with steady hands, but only just. "Drink up." Harry shifted in his bed, bringing his blanket covered knees up between him and the others. He pretended to take a sip and then set the cup down in his lap.

"Good, isn't it?" Fudge asked. Harry nodded. "Drink it before it gets cold." Harry took another pretend sip, but this time he couldn't stop his hands from shaking and slopped some of the tea onto his sheets. The white material quickly turned a pale brown.

"Careful!" Umbridge squawked.

Harry took another sip, and this time, instead of spilling the tea, he dabbed a corner of the sheet in. Its absorbed more tea. Harry quickly folded it to hide the mess.

"Are you sure there's not anything you can tell us about your godfather?" Bones asked gently.

"Positive," Harry muttered, dipping another section of the sheet into the tea.

"Are you drinking?" Fudge asked, looking concerned. Harry showed him the almost empty teacup. "Good, good. Where have you been living?"

"It's a secret," Harry said. He took another pretend sip and then set the cup down on the table beside his bed.

"I'm the Minister for Magic, Harry," Fudge said, brightly. "If you can't trust me, who can you trust?" Harry didn't miss the little frown on Dumbledore's wizened face.

"I don't know, sir," he said.

The adults exchanged glances. "Well?" Fudge asked. He was twirling his bowler hat in his hands. "Where is Black hiding?"

Harry thought, very quickly and made a decision. "Do you know what a Fidelius Charm is, Minister?" he asked quietly.

Everyone seemed to slump. Harry felt a little thrill. They had, of course, assumed that Padfoot was the Secret Keeper. They'd be more determined than ever to find him now, but they wouldn't find him unless Harry told them where to look. "Yes, I'm familiar with it," Fudge sighed. "Amelia, would you-"

"Scrimgeour?" Fudge inclined his head. "Of course, Minister, I'll inform him at once. It was a pleasure to meet you, Harry." She nodded at the others and strode out.

"Who's Scrimgeour?" Harry asked.

"Is he here in London, Harry?" Fudge pressed. "Can you tell us that?"

Harry opened his mouth and then closed it again; he didn't want to tell them too much. "I can't say," he said after a moment.

"Do you go to Diagon Alley often?"

"Not really. I've been three times."

"How long did it take you to get there?"

Harry shrugged. "It was different each time." And it had been; the first was from the Dursleys, the second was from Grimmuald, but Padfoot had Apparated them and the third time had been through the Floo Network.

Fudge's face fell, but not for long. "Can you describe the house?" Harry shook his head.

"Is it in a muggle neighbourhood?" Umbridge asked.

"Yeah," Harry said cautiously.

Fudge looked ready to burst with excitement. "What's nearby? Any distinctive buildings or landmarks?"

"There's... er... a bus stop," Harry lied. "And a... big tree."

"What kind of tree?"

"I don't know."

"Does Black ever meet with anyone? Any of the Death Eaters?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "No."

"Does he write many letters?"

"No."

"Do you know anything that might help us catch him?"

"No."

"Do you want Sirius caught, Harry?" Dumbledore asked softly.

" _No_ ," Harry said.

"Well," Umbridge said. "Admirable as your loyalty is, you might want to think about the fact that he doesn't seem to mind that _you've_ been caught, Mr Potter. Would he protect you just as well if the situations were reversed, do you think?"

"Yes," Harry said without hesitation.

She looked irritated. "I think we're done here. Minister?"

"Yes, I think so. Thank you, Harry. Dumbledore, you'll stay with him?" Fudge asked.

"I'm afraid I'm needed at the school," Dumbledore said, standing. "Term starts next week, after all. Remus, could you-?"

"Of course, sir," Remus said. "I'll stay with Harry, Minister."

Umbridge didn't look happy about _that_ at all, but Harry didn't much care what she thought. "Very well," Fudge said. He put his bowler hat back on top of his head. "I'll walk you out. Dolores, are you heading back to the Ministry?"

"No, Minister," Umbridge said. "But I could use a walk."

"We'll be off then," Dumbledore said cheerfully. "It was wonderful to meet you, Harry."

"You too, sir," Harry said, smiling at Dumbledore, whom he'd decided he liked.

"I'll be in tomorrow, I think."

Harry nodded. Fudge offered Harry his hand. Harry shook it cautiously. "Goodbye, Harry. Thank you for your cooperation today." Harry nodded again but it was a rather jerky motion. Fudge didn't seem to notice.

"I'll be back soon, Mr Potter," was all Umbridge said. Harry, who remembered she worked with magical children, didn't like the sound of that at all.

"All right," he said. "Bye."

Dumbledore swept out with Fudge just behind. Umbridge gave Remus one nasty look and flounced out after them. The door clicked shut. Remus, who had been sitting rather stiffly, relaxed, but only slightly.

"Were you telling the truth about Sirius and Peter, earlier?" he asked, looking nervous.

"Yes."

Remus took a deep breath and a relieved smile spread across his face, followed almost immediately by a troubled, sympathetic look. "It wasn't your fault, you know."

"What?"

"The tea. It _made_ you say those things. You had no way of contr-"

"The tea didn't make me say anything," Harry said. "I only pretended to drink."

"You knew," he said sounding shocked. "I did wonder when I sme- saw how worried you were, but when you accepted it and started to drink I thought you mustn't know after all. So you lied?"

"Lied?"

"The potion - Veritaserum, it's called - is a truth serum. You'll tell anyone anything they ask."

Harry stared at the cup and fervently thanked Merlin and the Hogwarts founders that he hadn't consumed any. "You could smell it, couldn't you?" he asked.

"Veritaserum doesn't have a smell," Remus said quietly. Harry frowned at him. He smiled a little ruefully. "It doesn't. That's what tipped me off. Even water has a smell but Veritaserum smells like... nothing."

Another question presented itself to him. "Dumbledore knew you could smell it," he said, frowning.

"He did, yes," Remus said slowly.

"Why does Dumbledore know you're an Animagus, but doesn't know about my dad, Padfoot or Pettigrew?"

"What makes you think I'm an Animagus?" Remus asked, looking stunned.

"Padfoot told me," Harry said.

"Did he now?" Remus muttered.

"Well?" Harry asked. "Why does Dumbledore know?"

"What makes you think he does?" Harry gave him a flat stare. Remus smiled. "You look an awful lot like James when you do that." Harry grinned. "And even more like him when you do that," Remus said, laughing. "I'll bet you drive Padfoot up the walls."

"You called him Padfoot," Harry said, instantly sidetracked.

Remus looked stunned and then nodded. "I-I suppose I did."

"So you believe me?"

He let out a noisy breath. "I hope you realise that by telling me what you told me earlier, you forced me to rethink the past eight years of my life." Harry grimaced. "But yes, I do. I've always somewhat questioned Sirius' ability to kill James and Lily but I've never been able to find another explanation, any other way it could have happened... they hadn't even talked about swapping, though. Not to me, anyway." His tone was slightly bitter.

"That's Padfoot's second biggest regret," Harry said quietly. Remus raised an eyebrow. "The first is swapping Secret Keepers, obviously, but the second is not telling you straight away; Dad wanted to, but Mum wanted to do it in person. I think you were supposed to have lunch or dinner or something the next day, where they would have told you-" Harry realised he was babbling and clamped his mouth shut.

"Dinner," Remus whispered. "It was dinner." He cleared his throat. "I have a question."

"Yeah?"

"Well, they found Peter's finger..."

Harry wrinkled his nose. "Padfoot thinks he cut it off after he blew up the street."

Remus closed his eyes and nodded. "And then he'd have escaped into the sewers, right?"

"Yes, actually."

"And Sirius laughed. That's what the reports say. That he laughed." Remus opened his eyes. "I think I'd laugh too if I was outsmarted by Peter." He sighed. "Why didn't we see it before? He was a rat!"

"Padfoot said something similar."

"I'll bet he did." Remus sighed. "Harry, I don't believe he would have, but I have to ask... It wasn't Sirius who injured you, was it?"

"No," Harry said. Remus looked relieved, but not terribly surprised. "Why do people keep asking that?"

"Will you tell me what it was that did hurt you?"

"Er... I don't think so, no," Harry said.

Remus frowned suddenly. "Where is Sirius?" he asked and Harry knew he wasn't asking where they'd been living, but rather why Sirius hadn't been the one to give Harry medical help or take him to the Healers.

"Why?" Harry asked defensively, fighting to keep a calm expression.

"Because from the way you talk about him, and the way you defend him and the way you defended each other that day in London, I think it's reasonable to deduce you care about each other." Harry nodded. "And from what I knew - or know, I suppose - of Sirius, he wouldn't leave you in the state you arrived at my cottage in unless he was incapable of doing something about it, or didn't know about it, and I highly doubt it was the latter."

Harry shrank into his pillows. "We were separated," he said.

"I'd worked out that much. What happened?"

"I can't- I don't know if I'm allowed to say," Harry said, fiddling with a lose thread on his pillowcase.

Remus let out a gusty breath. "Is there any way you can contact him?"

 _Kreacher_ , was Harry's first idea. He'd considered calling the elf several times in the past week but they'd be able to trace him to the Black family and Grimmauld Place through the Department of Regulationand Control of Magical Creatures. "I- maybe," Harry said. "Why?"

Remus glanced at the door and lowered his voice. "Because, before we stage any sort of escape, I'd like to be certain he's where he should be."

"He will be. He is," Harry said firmly. "And did you say escape?"

Remus smiled half-heartedly. "It won't be easy to get you home," he said in a whisper, glancing at the door again. "You're being watched like a Snitch as it is and the second we leave here, the Trace will reactivate."

"You mean it's off?"

"Places where a lot of magic is used - here, Hogwarts, Gringotts, the Ministry, Diagon Alley - tend to confuse the Trace. There are wards that do the same thing." Harry nodded, thinking of Grimmauld. "The streets of muggle London, however..."

"Right," Harry said. "If we left from here, though, would we be able to get away without the Trace?"

"As long as any magic you used was performed inside this building, yes." Remus made a face. "But the warding-"

Harry smiled. "I think I know a way home," he said.

"Oh?"

"I'd need a wand," Harry added.

Remus lifted an eyebrow. "To do what?"

"I can't tell you," Harry said. "Not yet, at least."

"Usually those words ended with me in detention," Remus muttered, shaking his head. "The number of times James said them...So you think you can get out?"

"If I have a wand."

Remus exhaled noisily. "If I gave you mine..." he said, pulling a slender beech wand from his shabby robes. "How would you get it back to me?"

"Er... well..." Harry thought about that and had to admit he had no idea.

Remus shook his head suddenly. "That isn't going to work."

"I didn't suggest anything!"

"It wouldn't matter anyway. I can't give you my wand because the Aurors-" Remus jerked his head at the door. "-check everyone's wands on the way in and out. They'd know about it as soon as I tried to leave and I'd be dragged off to Azkaban, even if you somehow got free."

"Let's not do that, then," Harry said, quickly. "Not unless you've got a spare that you can hide..."

"No," Remus said a little apologetically.

They sat in silence and then Harry said, "Maybe... maybe you could go get my wand."

"You have- Of course you do. Sirius never has cared much for tradition. You want me to get your wand?"

"Well, _I_ can't exactly fetch it, can I?" Harry asked with a grimace.

"No," Remus said wryly. "I suppose not... Where is it?"

"Er..." Where would Kreacher have put it after he took it from Harry? "I'm not completely sure."

"Helpful."

"It was confiscated," Harry said defensively.

"By Sirius?"

"No. By- by our housekeeper."

"I always did say Sirius needed taking care of, but a housekeeper..." He chuckled once and then his expression turned remarkably serious. "Would I be right in assuming, then, that if your housekeeper took your wand, then it's somewhere in your house?"

"Probably, yeah," Harry said, wincing.

"Ah."

That, Harry thought, summarised the situation quite nicely.

-()()()()()-

Sirius' eyes flicked open and he became uncomfortably aware that he was not in his own bed, or in any of the beds in his house. _His_ bed didn't have flowery pillows or embroidered sheets. _His_ room didn't have cream and pink wallpaper. His room did, however, have moving photographs. _So this is a magical home, at least._ He reached for his wand but it wasn't in his pocket. _Damn._

He examined the photograph on the bedside table. It showed a boy - he looked about ten - and a woman - who Sirius guessed was his mother. Both had the same dark hair and eyes and the same cheeky smile. _I know that smile_ , Sirius realised, but he couldn't think how.

He climbed out of bed and stumbled over to the door, his muscles seizing painfully. He was out of breath by the time he got there and sank to his knees. The lethargy was like being in Azkaban again, and he hated it. He felt weak and he felt tired and this was after copious amounts of chocolate, hot chocolate and seven years of practice against Dementors. He supposed there was a reason they'd outlawed the use of Dementor's Draught, and why, when it had been used, prisoners had only been given a tiny mouthful.

He called Voldemort every rude name he could think of and then pushed himself to his feet, using the doorknob for support. The moment his hand touched the knob, a high, ringing noise started.

He heard quick, quiet footsteps and then a woman's voice said, "Get away from the door." Sirius forced his legs to obey and backed off a few steps. "Not far enough," she snapped. "Go and sit on the bed."

Sirius did what he was told, but it was a struggle. He heard a muttered spell and then the door clicked and swung open. A tall woman - she was only a few inches shorter than he was - stepped into the room. She had the same dark hair and eyes as the pair in the photograph. She resembled the woman from the photograph - she was, perhaps, prettier and her face was thinner - but she certainly wasn't smiling. Sirius eyed her wand, which was trained directly on his chest. Her hand didn't shake, even slightly. In her other hand, was Harry's rucksack.

"Hello," he said - though it came out as more of a croak - and fixed a weak smile on his face, though he looked and felt like a mess; his robes were torn and rumpled, his hair was matted and he stank of salt and Inferi. He was also exceptionally thirsty.

"I think this is yours," she said, tossing the rucksack at him. It was damp, inside and out and the chocolate was waterlogged but he shoved a row into his mouth anyway. It was salty.

"Fanks," he said, stuffing another chunk in. She didn't seem to know what to make of him. "Your nephew?" he asked, nodding at the photograph.

"No," she said stiffly.

Sirius tried again. "Nice... nice house you've got here." She gave him a flat look. Sirius winced as something inside him twinged. "Do...do you... kidnap people often?"

"You're one to talk." Sirius frowned. _Does that mean she knows who I am...?_ he wondered. _It must, and that's why she's so wary._ The woman came a few more steps into the room. _Or not so wary._ She pushed her fringe out of her face and folded her arms, waiting for him to say something. "Where's Harry?" she asked finally.

"Safe," Sirius said hoarsely. _Or at least I hope so._

Her brown eyes narrowed and slid over his bruised arm, the cut on his cheek, his general state of disarray and came to rest on his neck, which he knew was bruised from being strangled. "

I know better than to trust your definition of safe," she said coolly.

"Clearly you know me so well," Sirius said, attempting to sound sarcastic but it came out sounding rather pathetic.

"Better than most," she said, her eyes narrowing again.

"Who... who are you?"

"You don't recognise me?" she asked, actually smiling now, but it was bitter. "Sirius, I'm wounded." _So she wasn't bluffing_ , Sirius thought grimly, squinting at her. She did seem vaguely familiar, but then, so had her house when he Apparated into it... he didn't even know how long ago that had been.

"You wouldn't happen to have... water... a glass of water, would you?" he asked hopefully. Her eyes narrowed again but she waved her wand and conjured a glass. She filled it and passed it to him. Sirius practically inhaled it and looked up, eyes begging for more. She paused and then waved her wand again. He went through another five glasses before he was remotely sated and set it down on the bedside table. "I'm afraid... I've still got... absolutely no idea... who you are."

She shifted, looking a little smug and a little hurt. As she did, Sirius got a whiff of her. Her scent, too, was vaguely familiar, and he was more inclined to trust that than his eyes. He sniffed again, trying to be casual about it. His eyes widened.

"Mar _...Marlene?!_ " Her eyes narrowed again and Sirius knew he was right. Then his mouth fell open. " _FUCK!"_ His throat protested, but he was dead, so it didn't matter. He flopped back down onto the bed and stared at the ceiling. "I never got out, did I?"

"Excuse me?"

"I'm...I'm dead, aren't I?" She stared at him. _Oh, Harry, I hope you didn't see it. I hope you're safe. Godric damn it! I promised everything would be all right!_ "Aren't I!"

"No," she said slowly.

"Go get... James... James. And Lily," Sirius told her. "Oh, and Reg."

"Reg?"

"Regulus. Brother... My brother," Sirius said impatiently. Comprehension dawned on her face for a moment, and then it was replaced by confusion as he kept rambling. "No one else. Lily, James and Reg. Wait... I'll... I'll do it." He pulled his mirror out of his pocket with trembling fingers and said, "James Potter." James' smiling face appeared and Marlene started. "Hey, I... er... I'm at Marl-" Sirius said, choking up a little; it was partially emotion and partially tiredness. James just smiled.

"Sirius!" Marlene snarled. "You're not dead," she said, sounding as if she wished otherwise.

James still didn't seem able to talk to him, so he supposed it was possible. Sirius put his mirror down on the bedspread and turned to look at her.

"Then why are you... here?"

"Because I live here, you git," she said, annoyed.

"But you died."

"Almost," she whispered, then her voice hardened. "If you hadn't been so busy running around after Voldemort perhaps you'd know that."

"So you're alive?" She rolled her eyes. "And I'm alive?"

"You were half dead when you showed up in my hallway," she said curtly. Sirius stuffed his mirror back into his pocket. "I sort of hoped you'd die on the first night but you didn't."

"First-?"

"You've slept like the dead for three days but I assure you, you're very much alive." She fixed him with a speculative look. "For now."

Sirius didn't doubt that she was capable of killing him. "But Malfoy..." he said. "I was there, one of the first ones at your house. It was ruined." He'd never quite recovered from that day in August.

She gave him a bitter smile. "Malfoy was there," she agreed. "He decided to gloat for a bit, as he always does and he- I..." She drew herself upright. "I was being tortured." Without thinking, Sirius reached for her but she flinched and retreated back toward the door. "I lost my short term memory. I thought I was still at Hogwarts... in my sixth year, I think.

"I recall telling Malfoy I'd tell McGonagall and see to it that he got a detention. Then his house elf showed up and started prattling on about his son. He turned around to tell the thing to go away and I grabbed my wand, threw myself out of the window and Disapparated."

"Muggles found me near my parents' old house and took me to a muggle hospital, but muggle medicine was useless in letting me get my memory back. I probably blew the Statute of Secrecy about forty times, calling everyone muggles, saying I'd miss Quidditch, asking for my wand - they confiscated it when I arrived."

"There was a television in my room, though, and when Lily and James were killed I saw it on the muggle news - not properly of course, but I filled in the blanks - and I snapped out of it. I started to remember little things, but I knew I still needed help so I stole my wand back and took myself to St Mungo's."

"Dumbledore was notified and came to fill me in on what had happened in the months I'd been in muggle hospital. I found out you were a traitor-" She spat the word. "-that you'd killed Peter and that Harry'd been sent to live with Lily's awful sister. Remus came to visit me... he was distraught, not that you'd care..."

She sighed. "I was getting better. I was remembering things and I was going to help, going to testify against Death Eaters in all the trials and then- and then... I- Alice and Frank showed up in my ward. I couldn't handle it. I checked out as soon as the Healers proclaimed me healthy and I moved in here."

"And you've been alone, all this time?" Sirius asked quietly. That wasn't the Marlene he knew at all; she'd always loved to be around people.

"I had a cat but it died last year," she said shortly. Her face hadn't changed the entire time; her jaw had been set, her eyes not-quite-there. It was a look Sirius was very familiar with, after having spent years in Azkaban.

"What... what did the world do to you, Marly?" he asked hoarsely.

Her blank expression twisted into an angry one at the old nickname and her wand spat out a stream of pink and gold magic. "The world?" she asked, coldly furious. "The world did nothing to me, Sirius, it was you and your Death Eater pals." Sirius wasn't sure what to say to that. He wasn't a Death Eater, but knowing Marlene, he'd be Stunned or Silenced before he could even get the words out. Instead, he just waited. This seemed to annoy her. "Are you just going to sit there?" she asked.

"What else should I... be doing?" Sirius asked, rubbing absently at a particularly painful bruise at his throat. "I'll talk... if you want me to-"

"I don't want you to talk to me."

"Liar," was all he managed to say as his head throbbed painfully.

"Excuse me?"

"You're... excused, but you're still lying. If you didn't want to... talk, you'd have handed me straight to... them... the Dementors, or killed me yourself."

"Are you complaining?" she asked.

"Not at all... Just wondering... Am I allowed to talk to you or not?" Talking was the last thing he felt like doing but if she was willing to listen, he didn't see that he had much choice.

A wary expression crossed her face. "You have two minutes."


End file.
